v^mmv£im€AWAfi 


Cam  Clarke 

B^' John  H.Walsh 


CAM  CLARKE 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NBW  YORK  •    BOSTON  •   CHICAGO  •  DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •   SAN  FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limitbd 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •   CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd. 

TORONTO 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/camclarkeOOwalsrich 


CAM  CLARKE 


BY 

JOHN  H.  WALSH 


WITH  FRONTISPIECE  BY 
WILLIAM    VAN   DRESSER 


^m  flnrk 

THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

1916 

All  rights  reserved 


Copyright  1916 

By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  February,  1916 


CAM  CLARKE 


M532993 


CAM  CLARKE 


CHAPTER  I 

AS  I  start  writing,  I  mean  this  to  be  the  history 
of  a  year  of  Cam  Clarke's  life.  But  I  sup- 
pose when  I  have  finished  it  will  be  something 
else.  In  the  first  place,  I  am  so  egotistical  and  so 
charmed  with  myself  that  there  is  likely  to  be  too 
much  about  me  in  it  and  too  little  about  Cam;  and 
perhaps  I  shall  fatuously  write  too  much  about  Sarah 
Clarke  or  about  the  town  of  Washtucna  *  itself,  for 
I  love  them  both.  Who  knows  ?  But  I  mean  to  be 
honest  with  Cam.  I  mean  to  tell  many  things  about 
him,  for  he  is  the  most  important  person  of  us  all. 
I  know  this,  and  the  world  knows  it  much  better  than 
I  do.  But  I  do  not  really  believe  it  in  my  heart.  In 
my  heart  I'm  convinced  that  my  own  affairs  are  more 
important.  You  see  how  I  shall  be  torn  and  warped 
as  I  go  along. 

The  difficulty  of  proportioning  things  will  be 
greater  because  I  really  want  to  say  a  great  deal 
about  Sarah  Clarke,  Dock  Punts,  John  Bradford 
and  Washtucna  in  general.  These  are  the  back- 
ground on  which  Cam  and  I  are  to  appear.  I  have 
studied  this  question  carefully.  Such  backgrounds 
are  called  by  the  writers  "  local  colour."    But  how  a 

♦The   village   Washtucna   of  this   narrative   is   not   to  be   con- 
fused  with   the   Washtucna   of    actual    geography. —  The   Author. 

X 


2  CAM  CLARKE 

reader  can  tell  "  local  colour  "  from  the  real  stuff  of 
the  book  I  do  not  see,  unless  the  author  gives  direc- 
tions: which  I  here  do.  The  book  is  about  Cam 
Clarke  and  me.  We  are  the  stars.  I  am  assigning 
the  parts,  so  I  take  a  good  one  myself.  We,  I  say, 
are  the  stars  and  if  there  is  a  villain  it  is  either 
Whitey  McGrath  or  else  Father  Time  who  is  mak- 
ing every  one  of  us  older. 

Cam  Clarke  and  Washtucna  and  I  made  our  ap- 
pearance in  eastern  Washington  at  different  times. 
Washtucna,  as  I  have  implied,  is  a  town,  and  any 
horses,  dogs  or  babies  with  that  name  came  by  it 
dishonestly  and  latterly.  The  town  was  there  be- 
fore me  but  it  did  not  have  much  of  a  start  when  I  ar- 
rived with  my  people.  It  was  just  a  stage  station 
on  the  Colfax-Spokane  line.  The  stages  always 
changed  horses  there  and  the  various  drivers  always 
took  a  drink  at  Jan  Havland's  spirit  emporium. 
Then  there  were  six  or  nine  ranchers  who  rode  in 
every  week  and  asked  for  mail  at  the  post-office  kept 
by  the  all-round  merchant,  Mr.  Donnelly.  They 
scarcely  ever  got  mail,  but  they  always  asked  for  it. 

My  family,  which  was  large,  ignorant  and  wild, 
came  across  the  plains  by  wagon,  although  the 
Northern  Pacific  Railroad  had  been  finished  for 
some  time.  They  came  by  wagon  in  the  deluded 
idea  that  wagon-travel  was  cheaper  than  train-travel. 
And,  indeed,  my  poor,  irascible,  ill-instructed  father 
held  that  belief  up  to  the  time  of  his  death;  and  he 
so  valiantly  supported  it  with  the  artillery  of  his 
wrath  and  abuse  that  no  one  latterly  ever  dared  dis- 
cuss it  with  him.  Inasmuch  as  the  subject  was  dead, 
so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  this  was  no  loss.     And 


CAM  CLARKE  3 

perhaps  he  did  come  the  cheapest  way:  his  time  was 
worth  about  nothing.  We  lived,  and  that  was  all  we 
ever  did,  no  matter  where  we  were. 

There  were  some  thousands  of  other  people  who 
came  West  the  same  way  at  the  same  late  day,  but  I 
doubt  if  many  were  as  poorly  equipped  or  as  ignorant 
of  conditions  and  methods  as  we.  I  hope  none  were. 
We  were  a  large  family  of  small  children,  my  mother 
was  delicate,  we  were  short  of  money,  our  live  stock 
was  poor,  even  when  we  started,  and  my  father  was 
not  a  plainsman.  He  was  not  even  a  practical 
farmer  or  horseman  but  a  cobbler  and,  in  strict  hon- 
esty, I  confess,  he  was  not  a  very  good  cobbler.  But 
he  was  spirited  and  determined  and  stubborn  and 
healthy  and  he  was  not  afraid  even  of  his  youngest 
daughter  —  that  is,  not  so  much  afraid  as  some 
fathers. 

We  started  from  Dubuque,  Iowa,  early  in  spring. 
I  do  not  remember  much  of  the  trip,  just  spots  here 
and  there :  a  wild  thunder  storm  on  the  prairie  at 
night,  father  staggering  back  to  camp  drunk  from 
the  saloons  of  some  frontier  town  and  his  children 
running  out  to  tantalise  him  as  picadores  tantalise  a 
bull.  We  were  not  very  much  afraid  of  the  poor 
man  even  when  he  was  drunk  and  we  were  not 
shocked  at  all,  for  we  had  too  often  seen  him  in  that 
condition  before.  At  some  stage  of  the  transaction 
my  mother,  who  was  a  stooped,  slender  woman, 
would  turn  away  from  the  whole  wild  lot  of  us,  hus- 
band and  children,  with  so  desolate  a  face  that  we 
would  desist. 

My  father  when  sober  was  a  strange,  shrivelled, 
ignorant  but  kindly  and  bright-eyed  little  Irishman, 


4  CATVl  CLARKE 

always  hopeful  and  In  good  courage.  In  drink  he 
used  at  one  time  to  be  very  hilarious,  but  later  he 
became  irascible  and  violent  and  as  he  grew  older 
he  became  worse  — ■■  but  all  that  is  gone ;  let  the  bones 
of  his  sins  lie  at  rest  forever. 

As  I  have  said,  he  knew  nothing  of  plalnscraft  or 
woodscraft  or  horsemanship  and  it  was  only  God's 
mercy  that  brought  us  safely  through.  And,  Indeed, 
my  mother  did  not  finish  the  long  journey.  She  lies 
buried  at  the  foot  of  one  of  those  strange,  flat-topped 
mountains  In  Montana  at  the  edge  of  a  wide  and 
lonely  prairie.  I  tried  to  find  the  spot  all  of  last 
summer  but  her  death  happened  too  long  ago.  I 
could  not  locate  the  place  and  so  the  grave  Is  un- 
marked and  her  children  do  not  know  within  ten  miles 
where  she  lies.  Of  her  my  remembrance  Is  like  that 
of  the  journey,  It  comes  just  In  fleeting  glimpses.  She 
had  hair  as  black  as  a  crow's  wing  and  blue  eyes,  she 
was  stooped  and  slender.  I  know  almost  no  more 
from  my  memory,  but  from  her  works  I  doubt  not 
that  she  was  an  admirable  woman.  However,  the 
burden  of  mothering  a  round  dozen  of  children,  who 
were  growing  up  as  wild  as  hawks,  and  the  hardships 
of  the  long  journey  across  the  great  shimmering 
plains  were  too  much  for  her.  We  stayed  In  camp 
three  days  and  she  died.  I  remember  my  sister's 
wails  and  I  remember  the  smell  of  the  fresh  turned 
earth  of  the  grave  and  then  we  were  travelling  again. 
The  plains  seemed  interminable. 

After  my  mother's  death  we  received  considerably 
less  than  no  care  and  that  we  lived  Is  a  fact  highly 
creditable  to  the  vitality  of  the  whole  human  race. 
Under  the  circumstances  there  was  naturally  but 


CAM  CLARKE  5 

little  cohesion  in  the  family.  We  seemed  as  ready 
to  leave  the  nest  of  home  as  young  eagles  and  my 
father's  habit  of  smothering  his  sorraws,  doubts  and 
all  other  perturbations  in  whisky  and  of  afterwards 
showing  violent  temper  did  not  materially  aid  in 
holding  us  together.  But  we  did  not  Immediately 
break  up.  You  may  mutiny  in  mid-ocean  but  you 
cannot  desert  unless  you  ga  overboard.  We  con- 
tinued, hit  or  miss,  over  the  wide,  open  spaces  of 
Montana,  and,  because  of  the  weakness  of  our  stock, 
dropped  behind  one  wagon  train  after  another.  But 
we  never  abandoned  the  voyage :  my  father's  perse- 
verance was  as  admirable  as  his  efficiency  was  execra- 
ble. We  made  a  slow  journey  but  at  length  we  en- 
tered the  forests  of  pine,  somber-coloured,  but  with 
air  that  sparkled  like  bubbling  wine.  It  is  a  long 
journey,  however,  to  the  Palouse  Country  even  after 
you  reach  the  mountains  and  we  seemed  to  travel 
forever  over  the  almost  impassable  mountain  roads. 

Late  in  the  autumn  we  came  down  to  Spokane 
across  the  gravelly  prairie  to  the  north.  Spokane 
was  then  a  frontier  town  where  a  few  hundreds  of 
people  lived  in  frame  houses,  tents  and  log  cabins, 
which  lay  loosely  along  the  banks  of  a  clear  river. 
Behind  and  beyond  the  town  in  every  direction  were 
irregular  small  mountains  straggling  up  to  the  sky. 
These  carried  a  sparse  and  dwarfed  growth  of  black 
follaged  pine  while  the  rest  of  earth  was  in  the 
**  sear  and  yellow  leaf,"  brown,  red  and  yellow  with 
the  long  drought  of  summer  and  autumn  still  upon  it. 

Spokane  was  lighted  to  the  due  pitch  for  the  rude 
and  riotous  dissipations  of  a  race  nearly  descended 
from   the   loud-laughing,    deep-drinking,   sea-faring 


6  CAM  CLARKE 

peoples  of  all  North  Europe :  Saxon  and  Finn  and 
Dane  and  Celt.  Their  rejoicings  never  ceased. 
And  I  liked  nothing  better  than  peering  into  the  for- 
bidden regions  of  the  great  tent  saloons,  wherefrom 
one  heard  constantly  the  clink  of  glass  and  poker- 
chip,  the  hilarious  wailings  of  fiddles  and  a  dull 
stamping  and  shuffling  of  feet.  Frequently  loud 
oaths  were  roared  out  by  uncouth,  hairy  men  and 
less  frequently  one  heard  revolver  shots.  Spokane 
was  still  in  her  buckskin  clothes,  as  it  were  —  or 
rather  she  was  at  that  time  changing  her  shirt. 

Other  activities  were  amove.  The  railroad  was 
newly  arrived  and  already  through  the  laughter  of 
the  spenders  from  the  wilderness  there  sounded  the 
hammers  of  industry,  the  sob  and  sigh  of  steam,  the 
lazy  snore  of  spinning  saws.  Though  I  little  un- 
derstood, this  country  was  preparing  for  a  new  era. 
A  new  breed  of  human  animal  was  sweeping  down 
upon  it,  a  race  of  farmers  and  merchants  and  drunk- 
ards, a  race  training  up  sisters  of  charity  and  prosti- 
tutes, honest  mothers  of  children,  bankers  and 
preachers. 

Above  all  and  through  all  was  threaded  the  roar 
of  the  great  cataracts.  When  I  now  see  this  cata- 
ract as  it  is,  my  memory  hears  it  as  it  then  was  when 
it  was  new  to  me :  vast,  impressive  and  mysterious. 
Yet  I  see  now  that  it  is  not  so  large  as  I  had  fancied. 
It  is  like  the  height  of  the  school-house  stairs  and 
the  distance  to  the  spring  wherefrom  we  drew  our 
water,  it  has  seemed  to  shrink  year  by  year. 

We  stayed  but  a  few  days  in  Spokane,  yet  I  con- 
trived to  make  myself  extraordinarily  well  ac- 
quainted.    No   less   a   person   than   the    Chief   of 


CAM  CLARKE  7 

Police  learned  to  call  me  by  name  and  I  was  so  im- 
pressed by  the  majesty  of  his  position  that  I  all  un- 
consciously lied  about  his  stature,  strength  and  valour 
for  twenty  years.  When  I  saw  him  again  I  was  aston- 
ished. I  found  he  was  full  six  inches  shorter  than 
I  had  fancied  and  that  he  was  afraid  of  his  wife. 
Of  such  stuff  are  heroes  made  !  Time  also  had  been 
busy  branding  him.  Indeed,  his  brand  is  upon  us  all ; 
he  leaves  no  mavericks. 

We  left  Spokane  because  some  street  acquaint- 
ance of  my  father's  told  him  the  Palouse  Country 
was  a  good  place  for  a  shoemaker,  as  there  were 
none  there.  This  was  doubtful  argument,  the  same 
could  be  said  of  the  poles  of  the  earth.  He 
also  assured  my  father  that  a  new  railroad  would 
enter  the  Palouse  Country  in  early  spring.  That 
was  sufficient.  We  again  got  our  worn  horses  un- 
der way  for  one  more  stage  of  travel.  Fortunately 
it  was  not  a  long  journey  to  the  Palouse.  At  that 
time,  if  he  had  heard  of  Kamchatka,  my  father  would 
have  started  for  it.     Go,  go,  obsessed  him ;  he  must 

go- 

This  proved  the  end  of  his  travels.  The  restless 
desire  to  move  which  had  driven  him  from  Ireland 
to  a  new  continent  and  finally  to  almost  the  far 
fringes  of  that  continent  seemed  suddenly  quieted  in 
the  Palouse  Country.  I  never  thereafter  heard  him 
express  a  desire  to  change  his  habitation  again.  He 
attributed  this  quieting  influence  to  the  charms  of 
the  Palouse  Country ;  I  attributed  It  to  exhaustion. 

What  an  impressive,  colossal  movement  this  west- 
ward flow  of  population  has  been  I  Almost  the  whole 
Caucasian  race  has  joined  in  it.     Is  it  strange  that 


8  CAM  CLARKE 

those  crowded,  thinly  fed  people  beyond  even  the 
Pacific  ask  themselves  how  far  we  shall  go,  and  arm 
themselves?  We  are  Attila,  the  Hun,  a  hundred 
times  magnified;  we  conquer  not  only  men  but  the 
soil.  Oh,  we  have  made  ourselves  heirs  to  con- 
tinents. God  help  us  to  till  the  continents  and  to 
till  ourselves  that  they  and  we  may  vibrate  har- 
moniously together  under  His  hand  like  gut  under 
the  bow  of  the  violinist  I 

It  was  a  bleak  November  evening  that  brought  us 
to  the  four  houses  in  a  row  which  comprised  the 
stage  station  Washtucna.  These  houses  were  Jan 
Havland's  saloon,  the  Tennessee  Restaurant  and 
Hotel,  Billy  Carroll's  livery  stable  and  squint-eyed 
John  Donnelly's  general  store.  Old  Jimmy  Day's 
ranch  was  a  half  mile  away  across  the  flat  while 
Judge  Rusher's  was  a  mile  south  and  Mr.  Beauclerc's 
a  mile  north.  We  were  on  flat  ground  with  rolling 
bunch  grass  country  all  around  us.  We  made  camp, 
intending  to  push  on  further  next  morning,  but  one 
of  our  tottering  bone-racks  of  horses  died  in  the 
night  and,  as  we  had  no  money  to  buy  another  and 
^ere  not  resourceful  enough  to  steal,  we  perforce 
had  to  stay  in  Washtucna.  My  father  was  unex- 
pectedly complacent.  "  'Tis  the  voice  of  God,"  said 
he  reverently  that  morning  at  breakfast,  as  we  chil- 
dren shivered  around  the  camp  fire  in  a  drizzling 
rain,  eating  sourdough  bread  and  small  portions  of 
bacon  and  tea.  Then  he  crossed  himself  piously. 
After  breakfast  he  strolled  over  to  Jan  Havland's 
bar  and  by  the  generosity  of  more  affluent  customers 
he  was  soon  made  sociably  drunk.  Washtucna  was 
helpful  in  those  days,  she  would  help  you  get  any 


CAM  CLARKE  9 

thing  you  wanted.  My  father's  financial  embarrass- 
ments were  no  sooner  mentioned  by  him  than  plans 
were  set  afoot  to  relieve  them. 

"  Campin,"  said  Jimmy  Day  heartily,  pulling  his 
beard,  which  looked  like  a  whisk  broom,  being 
soiled  white  and  spreading,  "  I  want  a  shoemaker  on 
my  ranch,  so  I  do ;  now  you  go  right  across  the  road 
there  —  this  is  all  my  land  —  and  pick  out  a  prom- 
ising place  and  build  a  shack  and  I'll  give  you  an 
acre  of  ground." 

I  need  rrot  remark  that  this  was  before  Washtucna 
commenced  to  indulge  in  the  fancy  that  she  was  an 
embryo  metropolis. 

"  I'll  pay  for't  in  worruk,"  said  my  father,  who 
had  when  tipsy  an  even  stronger  feeling  of  pride  in 
financial  matters  than  when  sober. 

*'  I  like  seein'  lots  o'  children  aroun',"  added  Mr. 
Jimmy  Day,  by  way  of  additional  explanation,  "  an' 
you  do  seem  to  sure  have  quite  a  snag  of  'em." 

"  'Tis  but  a  shmall  famil-ly,"  said  my  father, 
"  only  twilve." 

"What's  your  name?"  asked  Mr.  Jimmy,  pull- 
ing my  ear  in  a  friendly  way. 

"  Mart,  sir." 

"  An'  your  brothers  and  sisters?" 

In  answer  I  recited  rapidly  the  line  composed  by 
my  brother  Tim  as  a  roster  list  —  not,  however,  that 
we  ever  were  mustered.  I  may  mention  that  in  spite 
of  my  brother  Tim's  early  promise  he  did  not  turn 
out  to  be  a  poet. 

"  Tommie,  Mary,  Larrie, 
Bridget,  Ann,  Carrie, 


10  CAM  CLARKE 

Martin,  Peter,  Tim, 
Kate,  Maggie,  Jim.'* 

Of  these,  Mary,  the  oldest,  was  a  thin-faced, 
kindly,  gentle  girl  with  a  hacking  cough  and  a  nimble 
wit  and  tongue.  She  was  now  the  mother  of  the 
family.  I  thought  her  very  beautiful  in  those  days, 
but  she  is  long  since  dead.  Oh,  the  pity  of  it  I  It  is 
like  physical  pain  to  me  to  remember  that  inexorable, 
significant  cough.  Next  was  Tim,  next  Bridget, 
then  I  and  the  rest  were  strung  out  in  decreased  age 
down  to  baby  Maggie,  who  then  sprawled  over 
everybody  and  everything,  but  who  later  grew  up  to 
marry  the  man  who  owns  the  Quickstep  mine.  And 
an  admirable  husband  he  is,  barring  a  weakness  for 
the  sex  which  might  be  anticipated  in  a  bonanza  king. 

My  father  very  wisely  took  Mr.  Jimmy  Day's  ad- 
vice and  we  contrived  to  throw  together  a  three- 
room  shack  from  scraps  of  logs,  poles,  boxes,  burlap, 
canvas,  kerosene  cans  and  straw.  It  was  a  miserable 
shelter,  it  leaked  and  of  course  it  was  cold,  but  we 
considered  that  it  did  very  well,  as  none  of  us  died 
that  winter.  It  seems  to  me  now  that  we  were  some- 
thing less  than  half  fed,  but  we  lived  through  that, 
too ;  and  generally  we  were  merry  and  happy  enough 
even  in  the  presence  of  Mary's  cough,  of  which  none 
of  us  then  understood  the  significance,  not  even  she. 

One  of  my  father's  first  acts  after  finishing  the 
shack  was  to  hang  out  his  shoemaker's  sign,  a  bat- 
tered, ill-favoured,  small  wooden  boot,  which  he  had 
packed  with  him  all  the  way  from  Waterford,  Ire- 
land. He  hung  it  right  by  the  flapping  piece  of 
board  which  we  called  the  door.     At  first  he  was  sur- 


CAM  CLARKE  ii 

prised  that  it  brought  no  business  and  in  a  fit  of  ex- 
travagance he  painted  it.  But  that  did  no  good  and 
it  gradually  was  borne  in,  not  upon  his  mind,  for  he, 
properly  speaking,  had  none,  but  upon  his  conscious- 
ness that  there  were  only  about  fifty  pairs  of  feet  in 
any  way  tributary  to  Washtucna  and  that  some  of 
those  feet  wore  moccasins.  The  cobbler's  business 
being  temporarily  poor,  my  father  took  jobs  helping 
the  other  four  men  in  town  do  things  that  they  did 
not  need  to  have  done  at  all.  In  the  meantime  m.y 
brother  Tim  and  I  trapped  muskrats  which  old  Mr. 
Donnelly  bought  for  twice  their  value.  And  by  all 
these  devices  the  whole  family  of  us  kept  alive. 

Bu't  it  was  a  hard  winter.  During  how  many 
nights  did  we  shiver  with  cold  under  insufficient 
blankets  I  And  we  were  never  so  free  from  hunger 
that  we  could  not  have  eaten  more.  At  first  my 
father,  to  dull  the  sense  of  his  sorrows  and  hardships, 
would  from  time  to  time  buy  as  much  of  Jan  Hav- 
land's  rum  as  he  could  pay  for,  drink  it  and  then 
come  home  and  beat,  "  for  God's  sake,"  as  he  used 
to  say,  such  of  his  children  as  were  unwary  enough 
to  be  caught.  This  was  a  game  between  him  and 
us.  But  Jan  Havland  himself  checked  that:  he  re- 
fused to  sell  liquor  to  him.  As  for  the  beatings, 
that  was  a  square  game  and  one  which  we  enjoyed  as 
much  as  he  did.  We  teased  and  tantalised  him  and 
he  beat  us  when  he  caught  us,  without  leaving  last- 
ing hard  feeling  on  either  side.  Sometimes,  how- 
ever, Mary  would  cry  and  that  would  break  up  the 
sport. 

Spring  that  year  seemed  heart  breaklngly  joyful, 
and  my  oldest  brother,  Tim,  was  so  intoxicated  with 


12  CAM  CLARKE 

Its  warmth  and  fragrances  that  he  ran  off.  He  never 
returned,  but  I  have  heard  within  the  last  year  that 
he  is  in  Australia  and  is  prospering  there.  For 
many  years  we  had  not  known  even  that  he  was  still 
alive.  Oh,  we  were,  I  say,  like  young  hawks.  We 
were  bred  to  run  away  and  poverty  made  the  running 
easier  yet.  As  soon  as  we  could  we  spilled  ourselves 
out  of  the  nest,  and  thereafter  we  went  hunting  on 
our  own  account. 

Washtucna  started  to  grow  as  soon  as  the  snow 
was  melted  by  the  warm  breath  of  the  first  March 
Chinook  wind.  But  it  was  not  until  the  Clarkes  ar- 
rived that  Washtucna  became  a  real  town  with  a 
spirit  of  its  own.  Mrs.  Clarke  gave  the  town  its 
spirit.  It  was  in  the  spirited  Washtucna  that  Cam 
Clarke  lived,  and  it  is  of  that  Washtucna  that  I 
desire  to  tell.  But  it  is  difficult  not  to  talk  of  one- 
self so  much  as  to  eclipse  Cam,  Washtucna  and 
everything  else. 

Washtucna  was  only  a  small  group  of  houses  until 
the  Clarkes  came  and  there  were  few  who  fancied 
that  it  would  ever  be  a  large  group.  But  even  then 
it  showed  very  clearly  the  cleavages  and  tendencies 
and  traits  which  would  characterise  its  more  pros- 
perous days.  It  was  a  hospitable,  generous,  hilari- 
ous, rancorous,  exuberant,  kindly  community,  and 
already  the  few  scattered  inhabitants  of  the  district 
had  divided  themselves  into  two  hostile  factions 
called  Saints  and  Sinners.  These  names  were 
adopted  more  for  purposes  of  distinction  than  be- 
cause they  correctly  described  the  habits  or  conduct 
of  the  persons  concerned.  Judge  Rusher,  short,  fat, 
red  faced,  with  a  tawny  beard,  was  leader  of  the 


CAM  CLARKE  13 

Sinner  party;  while  Mr.  Beauclerc,  who  was  lank, 
gaunt,  smooth  faced  and  cold  eyed,  was  the  ^'  boss  '* 
of  the  Saints.  Within  each  party  the  other,  in  the 
confidence  of  private  talk,  was  referred  to  as  an  ag- 
gregation of  cattle-thieves,  horse-thieves,  liars  and 
murderers.  Further,  the  quality  and  legality  of  the 
birth  and  breeding  of  the  opposing  factions  was  fre- 
quently animadverted  upon. 

Both  Saints  and  Sinners,  on  account  of  the  precari- 
ous grip  of  human  nature  upon  virtue,  were  partly 
right  in  their  accusations.  Besides,  lawlessness  had 
been  fashionable  in  some  respects  and  neither  party 
had  in  their  hearts  desired  to  be  less  lawless  than 
their  competitors.  Which  is  to  say,  that  in  the 
recognised  forms  of  lawlessness  such  as  branding 
stray  calves  and  colts  the  rival  parties  were  in  com- 
petition. "  If  people  intended  regularly  to  *  slick- 
ear  '  your  stock,  you  naturally  would  board  the 
*  slick-ear  *  train  yourself  and  heat  your  own  frying- 
pan,"  said  Punts,  M.D.,  once  later  in  explanation. 
But  in  the  feeling  between  Saints  and  Sinners  there 
was  an  extraordinary  bitterness  not  warranted  by 
the  exigencies  of  business  or  competition.  Such  bit- 
terness is  as  inexplicable  as  people's  religion  or 
fashions;  it  is  a  matter  of  sentiment,  a  point  of 
honour :  and  it  is  contagious.  Newcomers  took  sides 
according  as  the  personalities  of  the  contending  par- 
ties appealed  to  them,  or,  in  rare  cases,  they  remained 
neutral,  and  they  made  their  feelings  strong.  My 
father  promptly  became  a  Saint,  and  thereafter  he 
was  a  solid  and  certain  Saint  just  as  he  was  a  Cath- 
olic and  a  Democrat.  He  became  a  Saint  because 
Jimmy  Day  recommended  it,  and  I  suppose  he  had 


14  C4M  CLARKE 

like  reasons  for  being  a  Catholic  and  a  Democrat. 
And  so  have  I  —  and  so  have  you,  also. 

Washtucna,  I  should  explain,  lay  in  a  little  level- 
floored  valley  in  the  heart  of  the  **  Palouse  Country," 
which  is  in  the  eastern  part  of  Washington  State. 
The  Palouse  Country  is  called  in  the  newspaper  ver- 
nacular of  the  Northwest  "  The  Inland  Empire,"  or, 
more  familiarly,  "  The  Palouse."  It  is  a  rolling, 
rich-soiled,  prairie  plateau,  well  watered  and  with 
timber  not  more,  at  most,  than  fifteen  miles  distant, 
which  is  close  for  people  from  prairie  States.  To 
the  south  is  the  Walla  Walla  Country,  to  the  west  the 
Big  Bend  Country,  to  the  north  the  Spokane  Coun- 
try, to  the  east  Idaho.  How  those  words  roll  on  my 
ear !  Is  there  not  freedom  in  their  sound  and  great 
distances  ? 

In  the  beginning  the  Palouse  Country  was  for 
deer,  jack  rabbits  and  coyotes,  then  for  a  moment  for 
stock-men;  but  other  ranchers  followed  very  closely 
and  took  it  for  wheat;  and  now  gardeners  and  or- 
chardists  are  following  the  wheat  farmer.  At  every 
phase  it  has  blossomed  luxuriantly  and  the  phases 
have  been  rapidly  run.  The  journey  from  wilder- 
ness to  truck  farming  has  been  passed  through  so 
quickly  that  men  still  young  saw  it  commence.  To 
have  lived  there  constantly  is  to  have  learned  three 
or  four  separate  trades.  To  be  what  you  were 
thirty  years  ago  is  to  starve. 

The  wild  Palouse  Country  was  very  lovely  with 
its  miles  on  miles  of  shimmering  bunch  grass  starred 
in  spring  with  the  wild  rose,  the  pigeon-bill,  rock 
lilies  and  a  thousand  other  varieties  of  wild  flowers. 
Later  it  was  a  solid  wheat  field  from  end  to  end, 


CAM  CLARKE  15 

green  or  black  or  golden  yellow,  depending  on  the 
season;  but  dotted  with  lonely,  sun-beaten  ranch 
houses.  Now  it  becomes  lovely  in  a  different  way. 
Hand-planted  trees  have  grown  up  around  the 
houses ;  there  are  gardens  and  lawns  and  lastly  school 
houses,  which  spill  forth  children  in  overflowing 
measure.  But  the  greatest  charm  still  is  the  air:  it 
sparkles  and  glitters;  it  is  mountain  air.  And  the 
greatest  curse  is  the  dust. 


CHAPTER  II 

I  SUPPOSE  that  at  one  time  I  knew  Cam  Clarke 
as  well  as  did  any  one  in  the  world;  better  even 
than  his  mother  knew  him,  for  she  was  of  a 
different  generation,  and  difference  of  age  is  an  in- 
superable barrier.  But  that  was  a  long  time  ago. 
People  remembering  the  Cam  Clarke  they  knew  yes- 
terday— polished,  reticent,  immaculate,  inexorable 
—  may  wonder  that  he  should  have  been  so  intimate 
with  the  ragged  son  of  a  crazy  Irish  cobbler,  even  in 
boyhood.  But  such  people  only  knew  the  outside 
of  Cam's  life.  Even  in  his  later  career  Cam  has 
known  a  great  variety  of  people.  That  Cam  and  I 
should  have  been  such  friends  is  not  surprising  at 
all.  You  had  no  real  reason  to  be  surprised  at  any- 
thing Cam  did. 

I  would  not,  however,  be  understood  to  apologise 
for  Cam's  low  associates  any  more  than  I  would  for 
my  poor  father's  lack  of  common  sense.  My  father 
in  later  days  had  plenty  of  things  to  unbalance  his 
sense:  twelve  children  about  like  me,  and  no  privi- 
leges except  those  of  working  day  and  night,  getting 
drunk  once  a  month  or  oftener,  and  beating  his  chil- 
dren when  he  could  catch  them.  That  was  not 
often,  as  God  had  mercifully  made  them  fleet  of 
foot  and  exceedingly  active  and  resolute  —  it  occurs 
to  me  just  now  that  his  children's  agility  may  have 
seemed  oppressive  to  my  father  as  it  spoiled  his 

i6 


CAM  CLARKE  17 

sport,  which  proves  that  every  board  has  two  sides. 
And  Cam's  possible  associates  in  Washtucna  were 
not  much  more  numerous  than  my  father's  privi- 
leges. If  Cam  decided  to  select  me  from  amongst 
them  it  was  because,  for  his  purposes,  he  thought 
I  was  the  best  of  the  lot;  and  as  I  would  take  his 
opinion  on  any  subject  I  take  it  on  that.  I  suited 
him. 

Cam  and  his  mother  and  father  came  down  into 
the  Palouse  Country  in  the  spring,  just  ahead  of  the 
railroad.  We  had  been  there  for  six  months,  living 
off  nothing  but  the  hopes  of  the  railroad,  when  the 
Clarkes  arrived.  And  the  way  I  lived  had  made 
me  as  lean  as  a  hound,  as  hard  as  a  sledge  dog,  and 
wild.  **  None  of  them  Campin  kids  come  within 
gunshot,"  said  Skookum  Jones  once  afterwards  to 
Mrs.  Clarke;  "  they're  sure  a  scary  bunch  o'  colts." 

Cam's  father  navigated  down  a  team  of  awe- 
somely bare-ribbed  mules,  which  he  had  purchased  in 
Spokane  from  a  Missouri  trader  who  had  no  con- 
science. I  do  not  reprehend  that  horse-trader;  he 
was  just  built  for  his  business.  He  had  no  more 
need  of  conscience  than  an  adding  machine  has  of 
sense.  It  functions  better  without  sense.  Those 
mules,  however,  were  as  vicious  as  they  were  bare- 
ribbed,  and  the  only  reason  Cam's  father  was  not 
killed  by  them  was  that  he  would  not  wait;  he  died 
of  another  cause  before  they  got  around  to  him. 
Mr.  Clarke  appears  to  have  landed  in  the  Palouse 
Country  in  about  the  same  financial  condition  as  our- 
selves. But  there  were  these  differences:  he  had 
possessed  enough  money  to  get  there;  we  had  not, 
but  we   got  there   anyway.     He   realised   he   was 


1 8  CAM  CLARKE 

broke,  we  did  not:  we  were  used  to  it.  You  might 
as  well  try  to  show  a  Chinese  coolie  the  simple  life 
as  to  introduce  us  to  poverty ;  we  knew  it  so  well  that 
we  did  not  believe  there  was  such  a  thing.  Both  he 
and  we,  however,  were  hopeful;  extravagantly,  hope- 
lessly hopeful. 

Cam's  father  appears  to  have  been  about  as  prac- 
tical and  practicable  as  my  own.  But  he  was  quite 
different.  He  was  highly  educated,  highly  intelli- 
gent, well-bred,  gentle  and  generous,  but  in  delicate 
physical  health,  and  probably  with  a  mind  incapable 
of  dealing  with  the  rougher  details  of  life's  business, 
such  as  currying  mules  or  bossing  other  mule  cur- 
riers. Which  is  to  say,  he  was  not,  first  of  all,  a 
good  provider  of  food  and  raiment.  Then  he  had 
such  altruistic  and  humane  ideas  that  any  modern 
orthodox  Christian  would  denounce  him  as  a  fool. 
For  example.  Cam  once  told  me  that  the  reason 
his  father  bought  those  piratical  Missouri  mules  was 
that  he  was  so  sorry  to  see  their  ribs  stuck  out 
like  his  own  that  he  wanted  to  give  himself  the 
pleasure  of  fattening  them  up.  No  doubt  he  knew 
what  he  wanted;  but  for  me,  I  shall  make  some  dif- 
ferent disposition  of  my  last  dollar.  I  said  "  I 
guessed  "  that  if  Mr.  Clarke  had  seen  me  or  my 
sister  Mary  when  he  saw  the  mules  he  would  have 
bought  us  instead,  as  we  had  any  mule  I  ever  saw 
*'  backed  off  the  board  for  skinniness." 

Mr.  Clarke  must  have  been  a  poor  mule  driver, 
as  he  could  not  swear  or  wield  a  blacksnake.  Nev- 
ertheless, he  did  somehow  herd  his  way  down  into 
the  Palouse  Country;  the  mules,  of  course,  travelling 
at  their  own  convenience,  running  away  or  balking. 


CAM  CLARKE  19 

as  suited  their  fancy.  Cam  has  told  me  about  it  so 
often  and  I  have  myself  been  so  often  over  the  same 
road,  that  I  feel  as  if  I  knew  all  about  it.  It  was 
early  in  May  when  they  started  from  Spokane;  the 
rolling  hills  were  shimmering  green  with  bunchgrass, 
the  meadows  were  yellow  with  buttercups  and  there 
were  little  shy  violets  which  shone  like  the  stars. 
They  heard  the  songs  of  the  meadow  larks  and  the 
calls  of  the  bold  ground  squirrel,  "  which  were 
cheerful  and  nice  sounds,"  said  Cam,  **  but  the  wind 
used  to  come  whistling  and  whimpering  across  the 
prairies  in  the  saddest  way  a  feller  could  think  of, 
so  that  you  daren't  pay  any  attention  to  it.  Also  at 
night  you  just  couldn't  bear  to  hear  the  frogs  croak 
in  the  creek  bottoms  because  it  sure  did  sound  as 
though  they  felt  rotten,  and  if  you  listened  you 
would  almost  die  of  lonesomeness.  But  you  had  to 
hear  them,  whether  you  could  bear  it  or  not." 

Cam  and  his  father  and  mother,  nevertheless, 
kept  very  cheerful.  They  rode  together  on  the 
wide  front  seat  of  their  groaning,  rattle-trap,  immi- 
grant wagon,  which  had  long  before  crossed  the 
great  plains,  and  at  every  chuckhole  Cam's  father 
would  make  one  of  those  two-pronged  jokes  which 
Cam  himself  learned  so  well  how  to  use  later  in  life. 
One  prong  made  you  laugh  and  the  other  made  you 
want  to  cry  for  the  pity  of  something.  Then,  in 
the  worst  chuckholes,  Mr.  Clarke,  who  was  a 
small,  delicate-looking  man  with  a  stubby,  brown 
moustache  and  large,  lustrous  eyes,  would  be 
jolted  into  frightful  paroxysms  of  coughing  from 
which  he  would  come  forth  pale  and  faint,  and  with 
blood  and  another  of  his  two-pronged  jokes  on  his 


20  CAM  CLARKE 

lips.  His  management  of  the  mules,  as  I  have  said, 
was  only  partial;  they  were  in  general  masters  of 
their  own  fates;  at  times  they  refused  to  come  near 
the  wagon  tongue,  at  other  times  they  refused  to 
pull,  at  times  they  even  refused  to  be  unharnessed. 
Mr.  Clarke  on  such  occasions  just  waited  and  said 
he  was  in  no  hurry.  Now  a  man  who  can  outwait 
a  mule  is  good;  but  naturally  Mr.  Clarke's  progress 
was  slow;  so  slow  that  he  took  seven  days  to  travel 
the  forty  miles  from  Spokane  to  the  elbow  bend  in 
Pine  Creek. 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  Clarkes  came  gradually 
down  into  the  rich  Palouse  Country,  which  was  all 
verdant  with  spring,  Cam  riding  between  his  father 
and  mother  on  the  high  seat,  his  gray,  speckled  eyes, 
which  in  appearance  were  the  very  mirror  of  his 
mother's,  open  to  everything.  They  were  but  poor 
travellers,  incapable  of  hurrying,  and,  besides,  they 
did  not  know  exactly  where  they  were  going.  I 
have  since  gone  over  the  ground  and  from  Cam's 
description  I  have  located  their  various  camps.  I 
judge  that  those  camps  were  selected  principally  to 
humour  the  caprice  of  the  mules  and  with  but  little 
idea  of  indulging  the  comfort  or  convenience  of  the 
Clarkes. 

The  last  camp  was  on  the  elbow  of  Pine  Creek 
where  Cam  and  I  used  later  to  fish  for  suckers  and 
to  go  swimming  with  the  hogs  or  in  winter  to  skate. 
It  happened  to  be  a  good  camp,  but  that  was  acci- 
dental. They  selected  it  because  it  was  late  in  the 
evening  when  they  arrived  there  and  because  one  of 
the  mules  balked.  There  was  grass  and  water 
handy,  but  they  had  not  noticed  it.     They  tried  to 


CAM  CLARKE  21 

hurry  in  making  camp,  for  they  had  no  lantern,  and 
so  they  paid  but  little  attention  to  their  surround- 
ings, except  to  make  sure  that  there  was  a  level  place 
big  enough  to  hold  their  baggage. 

Having  at  length,  after  considerable  effort,  got 
the  mules  unhitched  and  the  tent  unrolled,  they  seem 
to  have  realised  suddenly  that  there  was  a  small 
man  standing  in  the  twilight  in  their  midst,  smoking 
a  pipe.  This  was  old  Tom  Warren,  whose  house 
was  on  the  hill  a  half  mile  away.  They  spoke  to 
him  courteously  without  stopping  work;  he  grunted 
like  a  pig,  and  they,  with  awakened  curiosity,  lighted 
a  candle  in  the  still  air  and  looked  at  him.  They 
saw  that  he  was  a  little,  blue-eyed,  sturdy,  bearded 
man  with  dungaree  trousers  tucked  in  his  cowhide 
boots  and  with  a  faded  blue  flannel  shirt  overlaid 
with  wide  suspenders,  strong  enough  for  saddle 
girths.     He  bore  the  scrutiny  unblinkingly. 

Tom  Warren's  sudden  appearance  had  startled 
them  a  little,  and  they  were  uneasy  and  curi- 
ous about  him  for  some  time,  as  he  said  almost 
nothing  and  as  he  looked,  according  to  his  habit, 
exceedingly  stern,  gloomy  and  ferocious.  Of 
course  it  was  the  woman  that  coaxed  him  out  into 
the  daylight  of  human  sociability.  Sarah  Clarke 
got  him  to  talk,  and  Cam  said  that  when  he  spoke 
it  was  in  such  a  deep  voice  that  all  the  hills  roared 
back  echoes.  He  pretended  that  he  was  bored  and 
wearied  with  every  one  alive  and  he  spoke  in  most 
lugubrious  tones  of  life  and  of  other  lugubrious 
things.  There  was  something  quaint  in  thus  hear- 
ing a  man  wKo  ought  to  have  been  lonely  traduce 
the  human  race.     But  this  was  a  quick  audience. 


22  CAM  CLARKE 

They  laughed  at  him  and  with  him  and  all  around 
him.  They,  every  one,  seemed  to  have  understood 
him  almost  at  once  and  to  have  ceased  immediately 
to  be  frightened,  and  even,  said  Cam,  to  have  "  felt 
comforted  "  by  his  company,  lugubrious  in  quality 
though  it  was. 

Sarah  Clarke  politely  laughed  In  the  little  man's 
face,  which  is  difficult  to  do,  and  then  she  smiled  at 
him  through  the  twilight  and  said  it  was  cordial  and 
generous  of  him  to  come  down  so  far  to  cheer  up 
a  family  of  gypsies.  The  idea  that  he  was  a  cordial 
and  generous  fellow  was  like  wine  to  Mr.  Tom 
Warren.  Such  a  thought  was  to  him  unique.  Mr. 
Clarke  looked  at  him  just  once,  straight  in  the  eye, 
through  the  gathering  darkness,  and  saw,  so  he  after- 
wards said,  that  the  man's  ugliness  was  all  external 
and  that  his  disagreeableness  was  a  cross  between 
habit  and  self-consciousness. 

"  Stranger,''  said  he  amiably,  "  I  think  perhaps 
you  know  more  about  hobbling  mules  than  I  do. 
I'm  a  lawyer  and  I  could  hobble  up  a  piece  of  prop- 
erty in  a  deed  pretty  well,  but  I'm  having  a  hard 
time  with  these  mules.  The  fact  is,  the  animals  run 
off  every  night  and  I'm  tired  of  it.  They're  not  my 
trade,  and  their  trade,  I  find,  has  considerable 
technique." 

Old  Tom  laughed,  and  Cam  said  It  sounded  like 
pounding  a  barrel,  and,  as  I  have  heard  him  laugh 
myself,  I  know  it  is  true.  Then  he  lighted  his  pipe 
deliberately  and  laughed  again  condescendingly. 
This  laughter  was  not  tactful,  but  Mr.  Clarke  was 
patient. 

"  Avast,  shipmate,"  said  Tom  Warren,  now  in 


CAM  CLARKE  23 

great  good  humour.  "Avast!"  said  he,  or  some- 
thing seamanlike  like  that,  for  he  had  been  a  sailor 
before  he  was  a  cattleman  and  had  consequently 
never  learned  plain  English,  but  could  only  speak 
in  the  vernacular  of  one  of  his  trades.  "  Avast 
there,  partner,"  said  he  hoarsely.  "  I'm  able  to  as- 
sure you  that  you  do  skin  me  up  on  knowledge  of 
law  and  in  ignorance  of  mules.  Belay  your  efforts 
a  bit  —  give  me  the  mooring  gear  I  The  damn 
mules  is  spiled." 

With  that  he  took  the  hobbles  and  a  blacksnake 
and  showed  Mr.  Clarke  how  to  cross-hobble  a  mule, 
and  illustrated  incidentally  the  moral  power  of  the 
blacksnake,  which  are  simple  things,  and  I  did  not 
see  for  years  how  a  man  could  grow  up  even  in 
Worcester,  Massachusetts,  without  knowing  about 
them.  But  Mr.  Clarke  was  totally  ignorant  of 
them. 

"Where  air  ye  hailin'  from?"  asked  Mr.  War- 
ren, that  task  completed. 

"  Worcester,  Massachusetts." 

"  She  must  be  a  back'ard  port,"  and  Mr.  Warren 
laughed  again,  and  the  whole  party  and  the  echoing, 
silent  hills  joined  in.  Then  they  cheerily  made 
camp  together,  all  working  hard. 

Old  Tom  showed  them  how  to  pitch  a  tent  with- 
out killing  yourself  with  work  and  where  to  put  the 
harness  to  keep  coyotes  from  eating  it,  as  coyotes 
had  already  started  to  do,  and  how  to  make  a  better 
bed,  and  he  helped  them  gather  wood  and  start  a 
fire. 

When  camp  was  made  old  Tom  started  home, 
but  by  diplomacy  and  importunity  they  made  him 


24  CAM  CLARKE 

stay.  Or  perhaps  it  was  the  smell  of  bacon,  or 
because  he  was  lonely  and  liked  their  company;  at 
any  rate  he  stayed  for  a  second  supper  with  them, 
and  he  ate  more  than  any  of  them.  Tom  was  a 
good  trencherman. 

Afterwards  they  talked  for  a  long  while  over  the 
camp  fire,  the  moon  came  up,  the  coyotes  com- 
menced to  howl  and  the  chill  of  night  settled  down. 
All  this  time  Cam  said  they  could  hear  the  mules 
munching  and  the  hobbles  rattling,  while  Tom  War- 
ren told  them  about  rounding  the  Horn  in  a  sailing 
ship,  about  the  ships  from  Hongkong  and  Shanghai, 
about  the  pirates  of  the  Celebes  Sea,  about  the  dim, 
swinging  lamps  in  the  forecastle,  about  cattle  stam- 
pedes and  about  how  cattle  starved  in  winter  on  the 
steppes  of  Wyoming.  Tom  said  that  thirsty  cattle 
could  smell  water  for  miles,  and  he  told  Cam  what 
a  boatswain's  bird  was,  and,  indeed,  he  was  alto- 
gether very  interesting.  And  then  he  went  strolling 
home  in  the  moonlight,  smoking  his  pipe  and  talking 
over  his  shoulder,  and  Cam's  father  coughed  and 
coughed.  But,  though  Cam  was  sorry,  he  could  not 
stay  awake.  He  fell  asleep  with  strange  noises  in 
his  ears:  his  father's  coughing,  the  rattle  of  hobble 
chains,  the  howling  of  coyotes,  the  croaking  of  frogs 
and  then  just  blankness  everywhere.  Cam  thought 
old  Tom  left  just  as  he  piled  himself  into  bed,  but 
he  was  not  sure.  He  was  sure,  though,  that  it  was 
a  fragrant  night.  I  asked  him  about  that  when  I 
last  saw  him  and  he  remembered  with  certainty  and 
promptness. 


CHAPTER  III 

CAM  must  have  been  asleep  for  a  long  time,  al- 
though it  had  not  seemed  so  to  him,  when 
he  felt  Sarah  Cameron  (that  was  his  pet 
name  for  his  mother)  pull  at  his  shoulder  and  shake 
him.  He  said  that,  of  course,  he  first  opened  his 
eyes  sleepily  and  he  saw  that  his.  mother  was  leaning 
over  him  with  a  lighted  candle  in  her  hand.  He 
supposed  the  mules  were  tangled  up  in  the  harness 
or  something  like  that.  But  when  he  saw  her  face 
clearly  he  became  instantly  wide  awake,  for  it  was 
excessively  pale  and  it  was  strained  and  startled  in 
its  expression.  He  jumped  up  quickly,  feeling  sure 
now  that  something  serious  was  wrong.  Something 
was,  indeed,  seriously  wrong,  and  Cam  said  that  in 
a  moment  he  knew  what  it  was  without  asking,  for 
his  father  went  off  into  a  terrible  paroxysm  of  cough- 
ing. He  had  been  going  from  one  to  another  all 
night,  Sarah  Clarke  said,  but  Cam  had  heard  noth- 
ing. 

Sarah  Clarke  hurried  away  and  Cam  dressed 
hastily  in  the  darkness.  He  tried  to  think,  but  a 
lump  gathered  in  his  throat  and  his  teeth  chattered 
from  fright  of  the  unknown,  and  of  course  he  could 
not  think.  Mrs.  Clarke  came  back  presently  and 
told  him  he  must  go  as  quickly  as  he  could  to  Mr. 
Tom  Warren's  house  up  on  the  hill  —  he  could  see 

25 


26  CAM  CLARKE 

it  there  in  the  moonlight  —  and  he  must  bring  Mr. 
Warren  down  if  he  would  come,  telling  him  that 
Mr.  Clarke  was  very  weak  from  loss  of  blood  and 
that  they  wanted  his  advice  and  assistance  at  once. 
They  did  not  ask  for  a  doctor;  that  was  impossible. 

Cam  told  me  that  he  was  terribly  afraid  as  he 
started  and  that  he  was  so  trembling  with  fright  and 
cold  that  he  could  scarcely  speak.  But  he  said  he 
would  go  and  he  started  off,  running  at  top  speed. 
Presently  a  coyote  howled,  and  the  noise  seemed 
right  on  top  of  him,  as  coyote  howls  do  even  to 
grown  people,  so  he  ran  faster  and  faster  over  the 
dew-wet,  shining  grass.  The  house  seemed  a  long 
way  off  and  Cam  says  his  wind  was  shorter  than 
the  journey,  but  he  dared  not  slow  down  for  the 
coyotes  seemed  closer  than  ever  and  he  could  easily 
distinguish  their  dark  shadows,  which  looked  blacker 
than  a  rainy  night  and  which  grew  and  waned  and 
vanished  and  came  out  in  a  way  that  seemed  to  him 
supernatural.  So  he  kept  on  without  wind,  never 
ceasing,  in  spite  of  the  stitch  in  his  side  and  the 
steepness  of  the  hill,  running  until  he  was  right  at 
the  door  of  Tom  Warren's  cabin. 

At  the  door  Cam  paused  a  moment  to  regain 
strength  before  flinging  himself  against  It,  and  in 
that  moment  he  could  hear  old  Tom's  snorings 
through  the  din  of  his  own  heart  beats.  Then  he 
banged  the  door  with  his  two  fists  and  feet  with  all 
his  might,  making,  he  says,  a  dreadful  clangour. 
The  snoring  ceased  abruptly  and  Cam  says  he  heard 
a  rumbling  and  grumbling  and  cursing  inside,  then 
silence;  and  he  started  pounding  again,  for  he 
thought  Tom  Warren  was  going  to  sleep  and  the 


CAM  CLARKE  27 

coyotes  in  that  case  might  come  down  and  eat  off 
his  shoes  right  on  Tom  Warren's  doorstep,  just  as 
they  had  eaten  pieces  of  the  harness  that  lay  on 
James  O'Neil  Clarke's  wagon  tongue  one  night. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  flung  wide  open  and  Cam 
fell  back  and  lost  his  breath  again.  There  standing 
on  the  step  in  the  bright  moonlight  was  old  Tom 
Warren  with  a  double-barreled  shotgun  in  the  hol- 
low of  his  arm.  Old  Tom  was  dishevelled  with 
sleep  and  he  was  something  less  than  half  dressed, 
but  when  Cam's  breath  came  back  Tom  looked  beau- 
tiful to  him,  he  was  so  glad  to  be  away  from  the 
danger  of  coyotes.  And  yet  he  immediately  re- 
membered his  errand  and  started  to  blurt  it  out,  but 
Tom  roared  in  surprise  like  a  bull  when  he  saw  who 
it  was  and  the  roar  drowned  Cam's  voice  and  Cam 
had  to  start  over. 

But  in  about  ten  seconds  Cam  made  Tom  under- 
stand. Old  Tom  thought  a  moment.  "  Sure  I'll 
come,"  he  said  hoarsely.  He  made  ready  quickly. 
He  slipped  into  his  clothes  and  he  and  Cam  went 
trotting  back  to  the  tent.  The  return  journey  was 
easier,  it  was  down  hill. 

All  the  world  looked  silvery  in  the  moonlight  ex- 
cept the  tent,  which  was  gold  from  the  candle-light 
within.  Cam  seemed  to  remember  that  night  very 
clearly.  He  could  not,  indeed,  forget  it,  for  long 
afterwards  he  used  to  tell  me  how  he  saw  the  yellow 
buttercups  in  the  grass  and  how  very  brightly  the 
rock  lilies  shone.  The  air  was  sweet  and  pure  and 
cold.  They  ran  until  Cam  was  out  of  breath  again 
and  once,  half  exhausted,  he  fell  on  a  tussock  of 
grass  and  once  Tom  stumbled  in  a  badger  hole  and 


28  CAM  CLARKE 

went  down  headlong,  then  rose,  cursing  in  outland- 
ish seaman's  oaths,  blasting  his  boom  topping  lifts. 
Cam  said,  and  mentioning  other  pieces  of  gear  for- 
eign to  stock-raising.  Cam  said  this  was  the  most 
elaborate  swearing  he  had  heard  up  till  then,  but 
later  he  heard  my  father,  who  was  as  skilful  at 
flinging  off  curses  as  at  drinking  smoked  whisky. 

They  went  slower  at  the  end  and  came  into  the 
tent  very  quietly,  but  breathless.  James  O'Neil 
Clarke  mustered  his  strength  when  he  saw  them 
enter  and  contrived  to  raise  himself  up  a  little  and 
to  smile  a  ghastly  smile  and  make  a  joke.  **  I'm 
afraid  I'm  disturbing  the  sleep  of  the  coyotes  with 
my  coughing,"  said  he  faintly. 

But  Death's  hand  was  already  upon  him.  He 
was  white  with  the  chill  and  grip  of  it.  And  Cam 
says  that  his  father  must  have  known  what  was  com- 
ing to  him.  He  nevertheless  tried  to  make  another 
joke,  but  coughing  cut  it  short.  "  He  coughed 
from  his  feet  up,"  said  Cam.  And  then  another 
paroxysm  seized  him  and  Cam  desired  to  shut  his 
ears  to  it  and  to  run  from  the  pain  and  horror  of 
it.  Tom  Warren  put  his  arm  around  James  Clarke 
at  one  side,  Sarah  Clarke  at  the  other.  Mr.  Clarke 
thereupon  stopped  coughing,  but  Cam  had  to  look 
away,  for  his  father's  face  was  withering  before  his 
eyes. 

When  Cam  looked  again  they  had  laid  Mr.  Clarke 
back  on  his  pillow;  his  eyes  were  closed,  the  pallor 
of  death  dwelt  in  his  face,  but  his  lips  were  red  with 
blood. 

For  a  long  time  nobody  spoke,  a  coyote  howled 
dismally,    the    hobbles   of   the   mules   clanked   and 


CAM  CLARKE  29 

clinked  and  the  teeth  of  the  mules  munched  the  grass 
greedily. 

At  length  Mr.  Clarke  opened  his  eyes  again. 
**  I'm  sorry  to  bother  you  this  way,  Warren;  I  re- 
gret the  trouble,  sir,"  he  said  faintly.  Then  he 
motioned  to  Sarah  Clarke  as  though  he  would  speak 
to  her;  but  he  closed  his  eyes  and  did  not  speak 
again,  ever. 

James  O'Neil  Clarke  was  dead. 

I  never  knew  him,  but  Cam  has  told  me  of  him. 
He  appears  to  have  been  gifted  in  many  ways.  He 
died  very  young  —  who  knows  what  was  there  ? 
Not  any  one  now.  Cam  said  they  stood  a  long 
while  listening  and  waiting,  and  that  the  coyotes 
howled  dismally  and  the  hobble  chains  clinked  more 
slowly,  and  that  when  they  went  out  the  moon  was 
still  shining  softly  and  that  the  perfumed  breath  of 
spring  was  blowing  on  things. 

They  buried  him  there  on  Warren's  flat  and  Tom 
Warren  and  I  keep  the  marks  of  the  spot  clear  and 
clean  to  this  day.  Though  I  never  knew  him,  we 
know  that  he  was  Cameron  Clarke's  father  and  that 
Sarah  Clarke  once  loved  him;  that  is  all  that  is  need- 
ful to  us.  For  him,  life  turned  to  night  before  it 
had  reached  its  noon. 


CHAPTER  IV 

I  REMEMBER  clearly  the  day  on  which  Cam 
Clarke  and  his  mother  came  trailing  down  the 
hill  into  Washtucna.  It  was  a  very  lovely 
day  in  spring,  a  sparkling,  breeze-fanned  day.  I, 
at  the  moment  when  the  Clarkes  appeared,  was  lying 
with  what  I  now  call  my  stomach  stretched  out  on  a 
piece  of  Jimmy  Day's  flat  land.  I  was  trying  to 
snare  a  ground  squirrel  with  a  string  which  I  had 
looped  around  his  hole.  I  did  not  anticipate  suc- 
cess in  that  enterprise,  but  I  was  waiting  patiently  for 
the  squirreFs  head  to  be  thrust  out  and  I  was  en- 
joying myself  vastly,  for  it  was  sunny  and  warm 
there,  and  the  air  was  as  fragrant  as  in  a  garden. 
Cam  appeared  first,  galloping  easily  along  the  crest 
of  Sebright's  hill  on  Tom  Warren's  shining  roan 
mare  Nan.  He  paused  at  the  beginning  of  the 
sharper  descent  and,  turning  back,  waited  until  a 
mule  team  soberly  appeared  behind  him.  Then  he 
walked  Nan  leisurely  down  the  hill  and  out  upon 
Mr.  Jimmy  Day's  flat,  where,  as  I  have  before  re- 
marked, I  was  resting  upon  my  stomach. 

I  at  once  came  out  of  concealment  behind  the  bush 
and  temporarily  gave  up  resting  and  the  snaring  of 
squirrels.  I  trotted  over  towards  Cam,  and  he,  see- 
ing me,  stopped  Nan  and  waited.  I  waved  my  hand 
and  he  waved  back.     This,  however,  was  not  entirely 

30 


CAM  CLARKE  31 

a  friendly  greeting :  we  were  like  two  dogs,  not  quite 
decided  whether  to  snarl  and  fight  or  to  wag  tails 
and  play.  At  any  rate  it  showed  that  we  were  so- 
ciably inclined,  for  fighting  is  as  highly  sociable  an 
occupation  as  story-telling  or  laughing.  And  we 
were  both  always  sociable,  though  shy;  which  state- 
ment sounds  contradictory  but  is  not. 

When  I  got  close  I  stopped  and  we  both  stared  at 
each  other  somewhat  belligerently  while  the  roan 
mare  nibbled  the  bunchgrass.  I  decided  that  I  liked 
Cam's  looks.  He  was  thin,  red  haired,  freckled  and 
he  had  extraordinarily  striking  eyes,  gray  and  blue 
mottled.  But  I  would  not  be  too  cordial.  I  wanted 
him  to  know  how  excessively  valuable  my  friendship 
was. 

"  Where  you  goin'  ?  "  I  asked,  taking  care  not  to 
show  interest. 

Cam  pushed  his  cap  up  from  over  a  forehead  that 
was  beautifully  full  at  the  corners  with  a  bored  look 
such  as  no  other  boy  ever  wore,  but  at  the  same  time 
he  smiled  with  his  flickering  eyes  and  with  his  lips 
and  answered  very  coolly  and  politely,  but,  of  course, 
with  insolence. 

"  Washtucna.  Live  here?"  And  he  looked  as 
though  he  knew  I  did  live  here  and  was  ashamed  of 
it. 

I  had  Intended,  as  I  approached  him,  to  jeer  at 
him  a  little,  which  is  the  right  way  to  treat  strangers, 
and  I  thought  perhaps  I  would  dare  him  to  come  off 
his  cayuse ;  but  I  now  decided  to  wait.  This  did  not 
appear  to  be  an  ordinary  boy,  you  could  not  tell  what 
he  would  do.  If  he  was  as  extraordinary  as  he 
looked,  perhaps  it  was  as  a  fighter.     I  had  a  streak 


32  CAM  CLARKE 

of  prudence  in  me ;  I  decided  to  wait  and  see.  Be- 
sides, I  liked  him,  for  his  personality  was  as  potent 
and  charming  in  early  boyhood  as  in  maturity. 

We  carried  on  a  friendly  conversation  about  mud 
turtles  and  girls  and  swimming  and  by  that  time  the 
mule  team  was  descending  the  steep  part  of  the  hill 
in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

I  had  seen  the  mare  Nan  before  on  mail  days  and 
I  admired  her.  "  D'ye  reckon  that  mare  o'  yourn 
would  carry  double  ?  "  I  ventured  suggestively. 

"You  bet;  she'll  carry  quadruple,  if  I  want  her 
to,"  said  Cam  convincingly  and  he  stuck  out  his  foot 
to  help  me  up. 

"  This  here  *  quadruple's  '  a  new  word  on  me," 
said  I,  climbing  up  without  difficulty  and  taking  a  seat 
behind  the  saddle.  Then  I  touched  a  bare  toe  in 
Nan's  flank  just  to  see  what  she  would  do.  She  went 
like  a  streak,  and  hobblety  bobblety  we  dashed  back 
to  the  wagon  where  Cam  managed  to  stop  her. 
This  had  been  fun  for  me  and  beautifully  exciting, 
but  when  I  stopped  paying  attention  to  holding  on 
and  put  my  hand  in  my  pocket  to  get  something, 
thinking  Nan  would  stand  still,  I  dropped  my  guard. 
Nan  jumped  about  thirty-four  feet  and  landed  stiff- 
legged  and  I  went  off  like  a  comet  and  lit  on  the 
ground  all  spraddled  out  after  a  fall  of  five  and  two- 
thirds  miles.  Nan  then  bolted  with  Cam,  who  still 
stayed  on. 

It  was  a  pleasant  fall  until  I  struck.  I  don't  think 
I  was  made  unconscious  by  the  landing  but  I  was  so 
surprised  by  it  that  I  lay  still  and  did  not  move.  I  re- 
member afterwards  to  have  told  Cam  I  was  thinking. 
But  I  may  as  well  admit  now  that  I  was  not  think- 


CAM  CLARKE  33 

Ing  and  that  the  world  whirled  round  and  round  and 
that  I  felt  sick  where  I  stow  my  food.  So  I  lay  there 
with  my  eyes  closed  and  did  not  move.  I  suppose 
I  lay  there  two  or  three  minutes,  for  when  I  opened 
my  eyes  again  Cam  Clarke  and  Sarah  Clarke  and  old 
Tom  were  all  stooping  over  me  and  feeling  of  me  to 
see  where  I  was  broken  and  Tom  was  consigning  jib- 
booms  to  hell  in  the  most  reckless  manner  for  a  coun- 
try scarce  of  firewood.  He  seemed  to  have  forgot- 
ten Mrs.  Clarke  was  present.  I  was  afraid  of  so 
many  strangers  at  once  and  I  tried  to  get  up  so  I 
could  run.  Sarah  Clarke's  eyes  flickered;  she  un- 
derstood. *'  Stand  back,"  she  said  softly  to  Tom 
Warren  and  Cam  in  her  deep  yet  gentle  voice.  And 
then  I  lay  back  again  and  she  rubbed  my  forehead, 
and  her  eyes,  I  thought,  had  all  colours  in  them,  but 
that  was  the  sunlight  on  them.  She  was  indeed  a 
strange,  sweet  woman  and  very  beautiful,  and  I  was 
as  wild  as  a  wild  goose. 

"  We'll  carry  you  home  in  the  wagon,"  said  Sarah 
Clarke  invitingly.     ''Where  do  you  live?" 

I  saw  then  that  invalidism  had  gone  far  enough. 
I  did  not  want  to  be  carried  and,  besides,  I  really  felt 
better,  so  I  jumped  up  and  dodged  away  a  little  like 
a  coyote  and  then  turned  half  around  and  looked  at 
them  over  my  shoulder,  which  also  was  like  a  coyote. 

"  Come,  get  in  the  wagon.  You  look  very  white,'* 
said  Mrs.  Clarke. 

I  said  I  was  much  obliged  but  that  I  felt  "  fine," 
that  I  declined  to  ride  and  that  I  was  not  any  whiter 
than  usual.  I  stood  still,  however,  and  groggily 
watched  them  move  off.  Cam  circling  the  wagon  on 
Nan,  the  pony,  and  yelling,  "  Yip,  yip,  yip !  "  like  a 


34  CAM  CLARKE 

Comanche,  and  old  Tom  trying  very  hard  not  to 
swear  at  the  mules. 

I  liked  Cam  and  I  admired  him  for  not  being 
thrown  off  by  the  skittish  mare  as  I  had  been;  and, 
indeed,  I  still  admire  him  as  much  for  the  riding  he 
did  that  day  as  for  being  king  of  seventeen  railroads. 
Most  people  direct  from  Worcester,  Massachusetts, 
cannot  stick  on  a  cayuse  as  long  as  they  can  on  a 
banana  peeling.  Sarah  Clarke  waved  her  hand  at 
me  as  she  went  and  smiled  and  that  hurt  me  back  in- 
side in  my  feelings  some  place  so  I  laughed  as  hard 
as  I  could.  Which  reminds  me  that  a  man's  feelings 
are  located  in  his  throat,  at  his  eyes  and  around  his 
stomach. 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone  I  crawled  in  behind  a 
patch  of  service-berry  bushes  and  lay  down  on  the 
ground  and  cried  like  a  '*  nigger "  at  a  stranger's 
funeral,  and  it  was  not  on  account  of  my  fall  but  on 
account  of  the  kindness  and  gentleness  I  had  experi- 
enced at  the  hands  of  those  strangers.  I  was  not 
used  to  such  extravagant  treatment  even  from  peo- 
ple I  knew,  and  it  prodded  up  my  emotions  until 
they  stampeded  and  got  entirely  beyond  control.  It 
was  like  thirsty  cattle  going  for  water. 

After  about  fifteen  minutes  I  got  my  mind  into  the 
saddle  and  sent  it  up  to  hit  my  emotions  on  the  nose 
and  head  them  off.  Pretty  soon  I  had  them  going  in 
a  circle,  milling,  as  it  were,  and  then  they  stopped  and 
I  felt  better.  I  wiped  my  eyes  on  my  sleeve,  gave  up 
snaring  squirrels  for  the  day  and  went  on  a  pasear 
over  town,  favouring  my  neck  a  little,  as  it  was  stiff. 

Washtucna  had  already  commenced  that  spring  to 
accumulate  inhabitants.     The  single  dusty  street  had 


CAM  CLARKE  35 

recently  been  adorned  with  a  new  shack  of  a  black- 
smith shop  where  William  Hoefner  and  his  short, 
stout,  laughing  German  wife.  Ana,  shod  horses  and 
set  wagon  tires.  I  mention  the  wife  as  a  mechanic 
because  she  could  swing  a  sledge  like  a  man  and  spill 
water  on  a  hot  wagon  tire  with  beautiful  facility. 
On  occasions  she,  indeed,  had  triced  up  her  skirts  and 
helped  shoe  a  recalcitrant  horse.  She  was  a  very 
good-natured,  fat  woman,  but  she  ruled  her  husband 
with  an  iron  hand,  which  everybody  agreed  was 
proper. 

I  strolled  up  wnat  Washtucna  called  "  the  street  " 
in  the  bright  shining  sunlight  and  found  Cam  and 
his  mother  sitting  on  the  wagon  seat  in  the  shade  in 
front  of  John  Donnelly's  store.  My  own  brothers 
and  sisters  were  peeping  around  various  corners  look- 
ing at  them  in  timid  curiosity.  I  have  since  read  of 
similar  conduct  on  the  part  of  Papuans  and  Javanese 
on  being  visited  by  white  travellers.  Oh,  they  were 
as  wild  as  mountain  sheep  and  I,  for  the  first  time 
realising  it,  felt  ashamed  and  bored  by  it  all  —  as 
though  one  ought  ever  to  be  ashamed  of  anything! 
Besides  these,  no  other  persons  were  in  sight. 

I  did  not  peep ;  I  disgustedly  shied  a  clod  of  earth 
at  Larry  and  went  up  boldly  alongside  the  Clarkes' 
wagon  and  remarked  conversationally  that  the  mules 
looked  '*  awfully  poor,"  and  I  even  tried  to  herd  up 
my  family.  But  it  would  have  been  no  more  diffi- 
cult to  herd  prairie  chickens.     I  gave  it  up. 

Cam,  having  considered  my  remark,  admitted  that 
they  looked  poor.  "  But,"  said  he,  and  he  never 
smiled,  "  of  course  you  can't  tell  whether  they  really 
are  poor  or  not.     You  only  see  the  outside  of  'em 


36  CAM  CLARKE 

and  It's  hard  to  say  how  fat  they  are  inside.  Did 
you  ever  see  the  inside  of  a  mule?  " 

This  piece  of  argument  struck  my  admiration  in 
the  bull's-eye.  I  did  not  know  such  a  thing  could  be 
done  as  to  argue  like  that  and  I  had  never  speculated 
anyway  as  to  what  could  be  inside  a  mule.  New 
vistas  opened  up:  a  fellow  need  never  admit  any- 
thing; what  was  inside  a  pig  or  a  watch?  I  was 
glad  I  was  alive;  here  were  new  interests,  which  are 
the  best  things  one  man  imparts  to  another.  Hence- 
forth I  should  never  have  a  dull  moment.  I  could 
go  about  wondering  what  was  inside  things.  Cam 
was  a  born  imparter  of  interests.  All  his  life  he 
electrified  people  by  making  them  see  for  the  first 
time  that  they  had  a  big  toe  or  a  thumbnail  or  that 
water  was  fluid.  And  he  always  liked  fancy,  specu- 
lation, argument  and  every  possible  healthy  exercise 
of  the  mind. 

I  have  said  that  Cam  liked  argument,  even  as  a 
boy,  and  I  may  add  that  he  carried  his  guns  "  ready 
manned."  You  might  as  well  try  to  sneak  up  on  a 
wild  goose  that  was  looking  right  at  you  as  to  try  to 
catch  Cam  napping.  I  used  to  make  a  business  of 
trying  and  I  believe  that  at  one  time  later  in  Cam's 
life  some  hundreds  of  people  were  trying  the  same 
thing.  It  did  not  work;  nobody  ever  caught  him 
that  I  have  heard  of.     I  know  I  never  did. 

I  had  been  about  petrified  with  admiration  by 
Cam's  speculative  remark.  But  I  gradually  recov- 
ered and  while  I  wiggled  my  toes  in  the  dust  I 
thought  it  over  and  reflected  about  mules  on  my  own 
account.  Finally  I  raised  my  head  and  looked 
around  contemplatively  myself,  just  as  Cam  would 


CAM  CLARKE  37 

have  done.  It  must  have  been  Saturday,  for  Wash- 
tucna's  hitching  posts  were  fringed  with  dozing 
cayuses  carrying  huge  double-cinch  saddles  of  the 
Mexican  type,  but  I  could  not  see  men  any  place. 
Why  was  that?  Donnelly's  store  was  empty  and 
my  father  was  not  at  his  cobbler's  bench  by  the  dirty 
window.  This  was  extraordinary,  for  my  father  sel- 
dom left  his  bench  at  that  time  of  day. 

"Where  is  everybody?"  I  asked,  somewhat  dis- 
turbed for  fear  I  was  missing  something. 

Sarah  Clarke  answered  me  in  rather  an  intent,  im- 
patient voice  but  with  smiling  eyes,  and  I  listened  and 
took  my  first  long  look  at  her.  She  was  dressed  very 
plainly  in  some  dark  cloth  stuff  such  as  Washtucna 
seldom  saw  and  I  thought  she  was  thin,  very  thin,  in- 
deed, and  very  delicate  looking.  I  remember  her 
eyes  better  than  anything.  They  came  under  a  wide 
brow  and  they  were  blue  and  gray  mixed  and  I 
thought  they  flickered  like  a  fire,  just  as  Cam's  did, 
and  I  remember  that  they  had  heavy,  dark  circles 
under  them.  She  was  sitting  with  her  elbows  on  her 
knees  and  her  chin  In  her  hands,  and  when  she 
was  not  talking  her  eyes  looked  off  at  the  dim  dis- 
tance. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "  but  they  seem  to  have 
all  gone  into  that  saloon  over  there,  the  Washtucna 
Rest,"  and  she  smiled  and  went  on,  with  a  puckered 
brow,  "  I  guess  they  deserve  the  rest  but  I  wish  Mr. 
Warren  would  come  out.  He  went  in  there  ever  so 
long  ago  and  others  have  filed  in  and  filed  in  and 
no  one  comes  out  —  what's  your  name  ?  " 

"  Mart  Campin,"  this  from  me. 

**  Well,  Mart,  do  you  suppose  he's  all  right?     I 


38  •       CAM  CLARKE 

don't  like  to  interfere  with  people's  habits  and  if  it's 
customary  to  spend  a  half  day  at  the  Washtucna  Rest 
I'm  satisfied  —  well,  he  said  to  wait  and  we  will  if  it's 
a  year."  And  she  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  put 
her  strange  eyes  to  looking  at  something  about  a 
million  miles  away. 

I  saw  at  once  that  it  would  be  impossible  to  sur- 
prise Sarah  Clarke,  for  she  had  learned  to  shrug  her 
shoulders.  Any  one  who  has  ever  seen  an  American 
whose  experience  has  taught  him  to  make  that  ges- 
ture knows  that  such  people  are  prepared  for  every- 
thing, a  surprise  has  no  chance. 

I  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  long  time,  she  quite 
unconscious  of  my  scrutiny,  and  I  thought  her  very 
beautiful  with  her  wide,  placid  brow,  her  rich,  thick 
hair  and  her  gray-blue  flickering  eyes.  Yet  she 
looked  desolate,  as  desolate  as  the  wind-swept 
Joseph's  Plains.  I  told  her  she  was  "  awful  beauti- 
ful." Again  she  shrugged  her  thin  shoulders,  but 
she  smiled  a  friendly  smile. 

Presently  I  had  a  flash  of  thought  concerning  Tom 
Warren. 

"  You  ain't  hearn  any  talk  of  hangin',  have  you?  " 
I  asked  cautiously. 

Sarah  Clarke  looked  at  me  with  a  faint  smile. 
"  No,  I  haven't.     Why,  no." 

"  Well,"  I  replied,  "  a  hangin'  is  the  only  thing  I 
ever  saw  make  Washtucna  act  this  way  before.  She 
gets  locoed  same  way  before  they  hanged  Sam  Hop- 
kins —  I'm  goin'  in  an'  see.  Don't  want  to  miss 
nothin'." 

With  that  I  dodged  off  and  I  saw  over  my  shoul- 
der enough  of  her  expression  to  make  me  sure  that 


CAM  CLARKE  39 

in  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  people  did  not  let  small 
boys  go  into  drinking  saloons  to  investigate  hang- 
ing bees,  which  shows  how  old-fashioned  Worcester, 
Massachusetts,  was  and  in  what  refinement  Mrs. 
Clarke  had  been  raised. 

I  went  inside  the  "  Rest "  very  quietly,  in  order  to 
minimize  the  danger  of  being  ejected,  which  was 
fairly  large,  for  there  were  people  around  even 
Washtucna  who  considered  a  saloon  a  bad  place  for 
a  boy. 

Everybody  in  town  that  day  was  in  the  little  dingy 
shack  of  a  saloon  grouped  around  old  Tom  War- 
ren, near  the  stud-poker  table  by  the  back  door,  and 
all  were  smoking.  Old  Tom  was  talking  in  his  jar- 
gon of  mixed  technical  languages.  In  the  crowd 
were  all  the  most  prominent  people  of  the  district, 
Judge  Rusher,  Mr.  Beauclerc,  William  Hoefner, 
Jan  Havland,  Skookum  Jones,  John  Donnelly,  Jim 
Hall,  John  Bradford  and  many  others,  but  just  who 
I  can  not  remember  now.  As  Judge  Rusher  and 
Mr.  Beauclerc  were  respectively  the  leaders  of  the 
Sinners  and  Saints  factions,  I  was  surprised  to  see 
them  and  the  followers  of  each  of  them  all  in  one 
room,  evidently  with  a  common  object  in  view  and 
that  apparently  not  the  extinction  of  human  life. 
Indeed,  people  were  rather  friendly.  Tom  Warren 
continued  talking  for  some  time,  pausing  frequently 
to  wipe  his  bleared  eyes  with  a  bandana  handker- 
chief. 

"  I  tell  you,  gents,"  said  Tom  earnestly,  "  this 
here  is  Washtucna's  chance  to  get  in  the  saddle  a 
live,  clean,  thoughtful  and  beautiful  lady.  Wash- 
tucna needs  a  figgerhead,  what  you  might  call  a  mas- 


40  CAM  CLARKE 

cot  or  a  regimental  colours ;  somethin'  to  rally  around 
and  holler  for.  Here's  this  place  now  with  no  more 
communal  speerit  than  a  dyin'  snail  and  you  sittin' 
around  Saturday  nights  smokin'  and  plannin'  to  shoot 
each  other  up  and  drinkin'  and  talkin'  of  home  an^ 
wishin'  you  was  at  sea  on  a  bamboo  raft  an'  no  water 
Instead  of  here.  And  here's  a  railroad  comin'  down 
on  top  of  you  with  all  sail  set  to  royals  and  she's 
comIn'  like  a  herd  of  stampeded  cattle.  Are  you 
ready?  You  air  not.  You  gotto  cheer  up  and  get 
together  and,  gents,  here's  your  chance.  Make  this 
here  town  a  credit  to  Itself.  You  can't  join  together 
in  thin  air,  you  gotto  have  somethin'  to  work  to, 
somethin'  to  make  fast  a  line,  's  you  might  say. 
Here's  your  chance  and  you  gotto  take  it.  A  lady  Is 
cast  up  here  right  on  our  beach,  as  you  might  say; 
and  It's  our  privilege  to  welcome  her  at  the  gang- 
way and  get  her  good  quarters  here  so  she  can  stay 
aboard  and  be  a  nucleus  'round  which  you  can  grow 
a  proper  public  speerit  and  afterwards  calk  it  and 
pay  it  and  make  it  seaworthy  and  responsible. 

"  Now  here  ye  air.  Saints  and  Sinners,  all  divided 
up  Into  hostile  camps  and  hankerin'  to  steal  each 
other's  cattle  and  bosses  and  to  shoot  each  other  up 
and  not  carin'  a  damn  about  Washtucna's  future. 
Gents,  I  want  you  to  help  this  lady  the  best  we  can." 

*'  Men,"  said  Judge  Rusher,  who  was  small,  round 
bellied  and  red  faced  and  with  a  close-cropped  beard, 
"  men,  I  do  not  desire  to  seem  aspersive  as  to  the 
band  of  criminals  which  under  the  hypocritical  name 
of  Saints  have  heretofore  several  times  tried  to  as- 
sassinate me.  Yet  I  am  not  afraid  of  them;  I  defy 
and  despise  them.     I  would  be  aspersive  if  I  wanted 


CAM  CLARKE  41 

to  but  I  hoist  Washtucna's  flag  higher  than  my  own; 
I  hold  my  loyalty  to  her  higher  than  hatred  for 
Saints  before-mentioned.  And  I  feel  certain  that  I 
speak  with  the  tongue  of  every  Sinner  here  when  I  an- 
nounce my  previous,  antecedent  and  unchangeable 
loyalty  to  Washtucna." 

Mr.  Beauclerc,  who  was  the  leader  of  the  opposi- 
tion party,  was  tall,  bony,  large  shouldered,  thin 
lipped  and  pale  coloured  and  had  a  stoop.  He  said 
in  a  solemn,  gloomy  voice,  rolling  his  eyes  around 
the  room,  that,  as  far  as  he  was  concerned,  he  would 
disregard  his  quarrel  with  these  pestering  horse-flies 
of  black  legs,  which  had  late  bothered  him  a  little, 
same  being  styled  Sinners  by  some  people ;  but  as  for 
himself  he  never  called  them  Sinners,  as  were  we  not 
all  sinners  in  the  solemn  eyes  of  God?  All  differ- 
ences with  the  before-mentioned  parties  he  would 
overlook  when  they  prejudiced  Washtuchna's  inter- 
ests or  this  lady  he  was  being  told  of. 

The  remarks  of  Judge  Rusher  and  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc had  at  various  stages  moved  people  stealthily  to 
feel  for  their  revolvers,  not  with  any  intention  of  us- 
ing them,  but  as  a  prudent  precaution.  Their  total 
effect,  however,  was  soothing. 

Immediately  afterwards,  almost  interrupting  Mr. 
Beauclerc,  indeed,  Mr.  Skookum  Jones,  a  wee, 
wizened  old  man  in  a  shabby  high  silk  stove-pipe  hat, 
a  long  Prince  Albert  coat,  shiny  with  wear,  white 
whiskers,  high-heeled,  dusty  boots  and  a  flannel 
shirt,  raised  his  squeaky  and  piercing  voice  In  a  sharp 
**  ahem !  "  and  then  blew  a  loud  blast  on  his  huge 
red  nose.  Everybody  listened.  Mr.  Jones  was  a 
non-partizan.     People   laughed  at  him   and  loved 


42  GAM  CLARKE 

him;  the  laugh,  however,  was  never  to  his  face  as  he 
was  as  bellicose  as  a  hornet. 

"  Gents,"  said  he,  placing  two  fingers  between  the 
top  buttons  of  his  waistcoat,  "  gents,  I'm  a  heap  im- 
pressed by  these  sentiments  that  Tom  has  been  spout- 
ing off.  They're  all  right.  I'm  for  keeping  this 
lady  on  Washtucna  flats  if  it  can  be  done:  we  need 
her.  For  when  the  railroad  comes  in  I'm  op- 
posed to  having  'em  calls  us  a  race  of  savages  onused 
to  the  usages  of  society  and  politeness.  I  have  in 
my  younger  days,"  and  here  the  old  man's  voice  soft- 
ened and  he  squinted  reminiscently,  "  associated  con- 
siderably with  some  of  the  aristocracy  of  this  coun- 
try, of  which  I  judge  this  lady  is  a  member,  and  they 
were  peculiar.  But  " —  and  he  recovered  himself 
sharply  — *'  how  are  we  going  to  persuade  this  lady  to 
stay;  we  have  not  milliner  shops,  we  have  not  dress- 
makers nor  lingery  stores ;  what  have  we  ?  I  do  not 
know  the  lady,  having  merely  seen  her,  but  I  esteem 
her  and  admire  her  appearance  considerable.  Now 
perhaps  she's  matrimonially  inclined,  in  which  case, 
though  I  have  no  desire  to  accumulate  entangling  al- 
liances, I  might  note," —  and  here  Mr.  Jones's  hands 
trembled  and  his  fingers  tattooed  the  top  of  the  stud- 
poker  table  — "  I  might  note  that  I  own  three  thou- 
sand acres  of  land  and  that  I  keep  a  Chinese  cook, 
same  being  well  liked  by  Easterners,  though  from 
time  to  time  the  boys  do  try  to  pot  him,  not  liking 
cheap  labour.  Also  that  I'm  willing  to  do  what  I  can 
for  this  community  in  this  way,  as  well  as  others,  and 
that  I  admire  the  lady  considerable  and,  if  it's  de- 
sired, matrimonial  negotiations  could  be  opened  on 
my  behalf.     I  have  looked  at  the  lady  and  I  admire 


CAM  CLARKE  43 

her  a  heap.  She's  the  same  breed  as  the  high  class 
people  I  knew  when  I  was  a  young  man." 

Mr.  Skookum  Jones  again  blew  his  nose  loudly 
and  sat  down. 

A  subterranean  smile  went  around  the  table  but 
no  face  lost  its  external  gravity  of  appearance.  It 
was  well  known  that  Mr.  Jones  had  considered  him- 
self for  years  a  great  prize  in  the  matrimonial  market 
and  his  willingness  at  last  for  the  sacrifice  was  hu- 
morous as  well  as  touching.  Evidently  Mr.  Jones 
was  earnest  for  he  trembled  like  a  leaf. 

Mr.  Pete  Barker,  the  gambler,  and  Bob  Dalton, 
a  young  rancher,  stepped  to  the  front  window  and 
looked  out  at  Sarah  Clarke  over  the  soap-whited 
portion  of  the  glass.     I  looked  out  too. 

Sarah  Clarke  was  sitting  on  a  cracker  box  in  front 
of  Donnelly's  store,  elbows  on  knees,  chin  in  hand, 
looking  off  at  nowhere,  while  Cam,  with  his  red  head 
thoughtfully  drooped,  was  tickling  the  nigh  mule  in 
the  flank  with  a  willow  wand  and  with  actually  a 
spiritual  expression  on  his  face  was  waiting  for  the 
mule  to  kick. 

It  was  easy  for  even  Mr.  Barker  and  Mr.  Dalton 
to  see  that  Sarah  Clarke  was  different  from  the  peo- 
ple of  the  Palouse  Country.  She  was  slender  and 
straight  backed  and  as  proud  looking  as  an  Arabian 
mare  and  the  marks  of  breeding  and  breed  were  on 
her  face  and  showed  in  her  carriage. 

Mr.  John  Bradford,  a  stranger  who  had  for  a 
month  been  a  steady  guest  at  the  Tennessee  Restau- 
rant and  Hotel,  came  over  to  join  them.  Mr.  Brad- 
ford was  as  different  from  the  other  men  in  that  lit- 
tle bar-room  as  was  Sarah  Clarke  from  the  women 


44  CAM  CLARKE 

of  the  Palouse.  He  was  well-groomed  and,  al- 
though extremely  taciturn,  he  was  always  cordial  and 
polite.  Also,  he  was  dressed,  though  modestly,  in 
the  top  of  the  London  styles.  Until  this  time  he 
still  was  considered  by  Washtucnans  a  mysterious 
figure,  for  he  had  thus  far  not  vouchsafed  the  in- 
formation, which  later  went  the  rounds,  that  he  was 
a  young  man  of  fortune  from  Vermont  who  had  shot 
a  neighbour  in  a  quarrel  over  cards.  If  Washtucna 
^  had  known  this  she  would  have  embraced  him,  for 
she  understood  very  well  how  such  things  happen  and 
she  could  have  sympathised  with  him.  But  being  in 
ignorance,  she  doubted  Mr.  Bradford,  although 
these  doubts  were  not  ever  mentioned  to  him ;  on  ac- 
count, I  believe,  of  a  look  in  his  eyes  at  certain  times 
which  was  aptly  described  later  by  Mr.  Boylston,  a 
Boston  gentleman  exiled  from  his  family  on  account 
of  his  unusual  habits,  as  a  "  no  trespassing  sign." 
Mr.  Bradford  in  solitary  grimness  had  stayed  at  the 
Tennessee  Hotel,  had  gone  shooting,  had  bought  a 
small  amount  of  land  for  cash  and  had  bothered  no- 
body. People  said  he  was  a  capitalist,  but  this  was 
no  explanation,  for,  like  Tom  Warren,  no  one  in 
Washtucna  had  hitherto  been  shipmates  with  a  capi- 
talist. Always  he  had  worn  London  clothes  and 
smoked  a  bulldog  pipe.  Joining  Bob  Dalton  and 
Mr.  Pete  Barker  at  the  windows  of  Jan  Havland's 
saloon  was  his  first  act  that  showed  any  interest  what- 
soever in  the  civic  affairs  of  Washtucna.  He  gazed 
one  long  searching  look,  then  his  eyes  shifted  and 
met  first  those  of  Mr.  Dalton,  then  those  of  Mr. 
Barker.  There  was  no  difference  of  opinion  amongst 
them.     They  were  unanimous,  so  they  strolled  non- 


CAM  CLARKE  45 

chalantly  back  to  the  crowd  around  the  poker  table, 
where  sat  poor  Skookum  Jones  in  faded  finery  and 
dignity. 

The  self-appointed  committee  was  about  to  report 
on  the  proposal  of  Mr.  Skookum  Jones.  It  was  a 
joke,  yet  almost  every  person  there  would  have  pre- 
ferred to  omit  that  particular  joke.  Skookum  Jones 
was  such  a  likable  little  old  man,  so  generous,  so 
kindly.  Had  he  not  ridden  twenty  miles  in  snow  to 
people's  weddings  and  deaths,  lent  people  money  and 
given  them  confectionery  and  blankets?  He  had 
played  trained  nurse  and  soldier.  Moreover,  he  was 
sensitive  and  irritable.  But  it  was  all  too  much  to 
think  of.  Mr.  William  Hoefner,  the  smith,  wiped 
his  sooty  brow  on  a  red  handkerchief,  the  while  he 
was  Uebering  Gott,  or  some  such  thing.  The  com- 
mittee sat  down  and  I  went  from  the  door  to  the 
poker-table  to  hear  what  was  said,  but  before  I  went, 
I  "  cuist  a  look  ahint  me,"  hoping  to  see  Cam's  mule 
kick  at  him.  I  was  rewarded,  but  it  kicked  the  roan 
pony  tied  alongside  it,  and  broke  two  of  its  ribs  and 
never  touched  Cam. 

When  I  arrived  at  the  edges  of  the  crowd,  I  heard 
Mr.  Pete  Barker's  voice  raised  in  mild  expostulation. 

"  I  declare,  Skookum,"  I  heard  him  say,  "  I  de- 
clare, I  don't  believe,"  and  here  he  crossed  his  legs 
carefully  and  twirled  the  big  diamond  ring  on  his 
finger,  **  I  don't  believe  that  marriage  is  just  the 
thing  for  that  woman  at  this  time.  She's  just 
widowed.  You  better  sort  of  put  a  brake  on  this 
marital  business  for  a  while,  Skookum.  Wait  until 
she's  used  to  the  range.  Anyway,  an  old  long-horn 
like  you  don't  want  to  marry  into  the  short-horns. 


46  CAM  CLARKE 

You  all  are  different  folks.  I'm  of  the  opinion,  sir, 
that  this  ain't  just  the  thing  —  you  see,  Skookum,  the 
fact  is — " 

And  then  I  felt  the  wind  swish  by  me  and  Sarah 
Clarke  herself  came  sweeping  into  that  dirty  little 
frontier  drinking  saloon.  Every  man  stood  up. 
Sarah  Clarke  was  very  pale  and  calm  and  beautiful. 
She  looked  neither  right  nor  left  but  demurely 
walked  across  the  sawdust  sprinkled  floor  and  sat 
down. 

"  I  wish  you  would  all  sit  down,  gentlemen,"  she 
said  in  a  low,  calm  voice.  There  was  a  scraping  of 
chairs  and  most  of  the  men  sat  down  awkwardly. 
She  looked  around  them  inquiringly,  man  by  man,  eye 
to  eye.  Some  wiggled  and  squirmed,  others  were 
placid  and  patient.  Mr.  John  Bradford  was  in  the 
far  corner  leaning  against  the  wall.  Mr.  Skookum 
Jones's  fingers  were  trembling.     I  wanted  to  cry. 

"  I  may  be  mistaken,"  she  said  hesitatingly  and  in 
some  embarrassment,  and  her  eyes  did  what  I  have 
called  a  flickering  movement  —  I  wonder  what  it 
really  was  that  happened  in  them.  "  I  may  be  mis- 
taken, but  I  fancied  that  you  were  talking  about  my 
affairs  —  if  I  have  presumed — "  and  she  made  a 
gesture  as  If  to  go,  but  a  dozen  voices  protested  and 
reassured  her.  That  part  being  settled,  she  quietly 
looked  them  around  again  and  placidly  clasped  her 
hands. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  she  In  her  warm,  low-pitched 
voice,  which  yet  was  intense,  *'  I  suppose  that  you 
have  been  generous  enough  to  wonder  this  last  half 
hour  what  you  could  do  for  me  and  I  am  very  grate- 
ful to  you  for  all  that  if  it  is  so  —  and  I  think  it  is  — " 


CAM  CLARKE  47 

and  she  looked  a  question  to  which  every  one  re- 
sponded, "  Sure,  sure,"  and,  "  Yes."  She  went  on, 
"  and  I've  been  wondering,  as  I  sat  on  that  old 
cracker  box  out  there,  what  I  could  do  and  what  you 
could  do  even  if  you  wanted  to  be  kind.  I  will  tell 
you  how  things  are.  My  husband  died  out  near  Mr. 
Warren's;  I  am  poor:  in  fact,  I  have  nothing  in  the 
world  that  isn't  tied  to  those  hitching  posts  out  there, 
which  is  to  say,  two  mules,  a  wagon  and  a  camp  out- 
fit; and  I'm  not  very  strong.  But  I  want  to  stay  out 
here  and  I  want  to  work  and  I  still  can  work.  All 
you  can  do,  you  see,  is  to  get  me  some  kind  of  work 
I  am  able  to  do  and  to  let  me  sell  that  big  wagon  and 
the  bony  old  mules  " —  and  she  smiled  — "  and  just 
to  live  on.  I  suppose  I  must  get  a  cabin  somehow," 
this  wistfully,  "  but  in  the  meantime  I  can  camp.  I 
could  go  home  if  I  had  a  home,  but  I  haven't  one  and 
I  don't  want  to  go  any  place ;  I  want  to  stay  here  and 
I  want  Cam  to  stay  —  do  you  suppose  —  is  there  any 
sewing  needing  to  be  done  —  or  any  children  to  be 
taught  things  —  like  music  and  lessons  and  things, 
or—" 

"  Madam,"  said  Judge  Rusher  heartily,  "  Wash- 
tucna  is  delighted  at  your  prejudices  and  preferences 
in  its  favour  as  a  residence  and,  as  for  sewing,  there 
ain't  hardly  anything  in  the  Palouse  Country  that 
doesn't  need  some  sewing;  done  on  it;  and,  as  for 
the  children,  they  don't  know  anything,  they  need 
to  be  taught  everything,  their  ignorance  is  disgrace- 
ful. Madam,  you're  all  fixed  as  far  as  that  is  con- 
cerned." 

'*  By  chiminy!  "  interrupted  the  little  blacksmith, 
William  Hoefner,  "  and  there's  gettin'  more  clothes 


48  CAM  CLARKE 

unt  more  little  vuns  efery  day  —  dere  ain't  no  dan- 
dier of  bein'  mitout  a  chob;  no,  sir,  dere  ain't 
nothin'  of  dat  kint;  yes,  sir!  " 

"  Do  you  suppose  there  really  is  a  need  for  the 
work  I  mentioned?"  asked  Mrs.  Clarke,  rather 
anxiously  glancing  from  face  to  face,  somewhat  re- 
assured, but  embarrassed  lest  fate  be  hoaxing  her. 

Chair  legs  scraped  enthusiastically  in  answer  to 
this  query  and  several  bass  voices  said,  "  Sure," 
"  Sartin,"  and,  "  Of  course  there  is,"  from  which  it 
was  evident  that  Washtucna  intended  to  continue  to 
produce  untaught  children  and  undone  mending  in 
whatever  quantity  was  desired. 

"  Madam,"  said  Mr.  Pete  Barker  gravely, 
"  you'd  be  astonished  if  you  had  any  idea  of  the 
amount  of  sewing  and  instruction  this  district  needs. 
My  friend.  Judge  Rusher,  underestimates  it." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  genially, 
"  why,  yes,  madam,  you  would  positively  weep  if 
you  could  see  the  disastrous  condition  of  the  ward- 
robes hereabouts  and  all  for  the  lack  of  the  stitch 
in  time  that  saves  nine,  and  the  shamefully  unin- 
structed  condition  of  the  children.  It's  a  fright! 
Madam,  your  forchun  is  made  if  you  can  sew  things. 
Only  this  mornin'  as  I  was  sewin'  on  a  button  I  stabs 
my  finger  a  heap  and  to  avoid  such  pain  and  morti- 
fication Fd  gladly  pay  any  sum.  You  have  no  idea 
how  I  rejoice  to  be  spared  sech  bother." 

"  As  for  the  mules  of  this  lady,"  said  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc,  speaking  crisply,  biting  off  the  end  of  a  long, 
black  cigar  and  teetering  his  body  on  his  toes  and 
positively  rattling  a  chair  on  the  floor  in  his  good 
spirits,  an  amount  of  enthusiasm  never  before  shown 


CAM  CLARKE  49 

by  him  on  any  occasion,  "  as  for  the  mules,  I  recom- 
mend an  auction  and,  if  it's  convenient  to  the  lady, 
I  move  that  it  be  held  to-night  at  six  P.  M.  in  front 
of  the  post-office.  Which  it's  fortunate  that  this 
country  is  shy  in  mules,"  and  here  that  dignified  and 
super-respectable  gentleman  winked. 

Mrs.  Clarke  signified  her  approval  and  a  chorus 
of  voices  agreed  and  applauded. 

"  In  which  case,"  went  on  Mr.  Beauclerc,  **  I 
nominate  Mr.  Skookum  Jones  of  Steptoe  Butte  to 
be  auctioneer,  he  being  a  neutral,  neither  Saint  nor 
Sinner,  and  a  man  of  faith  and  good  voice,  and  also 
Mr.  John  Bradford  as  money  holder,  he  being  like- 
wise neutral  and  reliable,  as  I  take  it,  though  a 
stranger." 

"Good,"  "All  right,"  "Sure,"  "Sure  it^s 
Skookum  and  Bradford,"  said  the  voices. 

"  Gents,"  said  Mr.  Skookum  Jones's  sharp  voice 
deliberately,  and  he  shoved  his  plug  hat  back  on 
his  head,  rose,  knocked  the  dust  off  his  trouser  leg 
with  his  quirt  and  took  a  chew  of  tobacco,  "  which 
I  accept  with  plaisure  any  opportunity  to  serve  Mrs. 
Clarke.  She's  to  be  understood,  however,  that 
money'U  be  the  only  weapon  in  the  crowd.  This 
ain't  to  be  a  battle.  Saints  and  Sinners  having  mor- 
tal antipathies  can  put  'em  to  rest  by  out-bidding 
each  other,  the  scalps  being  figurative  and  repre- 
sented by  goods  and  chattels  purchased.  And  this 
here  sale  has  got  to  be  advertised  and,  as  it  is  al- 
ready late,  I  delegate  everybody  here  to  see  that 
there  ain't  any  person  within  nine  miles  absent  from 
this  sale  which  absence  ought  not  to  be  allowed. 

"  And  now,"  he  went  on,  "  while  the  rest  of  you 


50  CAM  CLARKE 

all  are  employed  in  advertising  this  sale,  Mr.  Bob 
Dalton  and  I  and  Tom  Warren  will  make  camp  for 
the  lady  down  near  the  creek  and  likewise  Mr.  Brad- 
ford will  list  things  up." 

The  hospitality  of  several  houses,  "  such  as  they 
are,''  was  immediately  offered  to  Mrs.  Clarke,  but 
she,  with  thanks,  expressed  a  preference  for  camping 
out. 

"  In  which  case,"  said  Mr.  Jones,  ''  I'll  lead  the 
lady  out,  as,  with  profuse  apology  to  Mr.  Havland, 
I  reckon  Mrs.  Clarke  is  somewhat  tiring  of  standing 
around  in  a  rum  shop.     Gents,  au  revolver! '' 

Mr.  Havland  accepted  the  apology  and  Mrs. 
Clarke  moved  out  on  the  thin  arm  which  Mr. 
Skookum  Jones  gallantly  offered  to  her.  In  glory 
and  perspiration  the  meeting  broke  up,  but  I  judge 
that  business  at  the  bar  was  afterwards  very  brisk 
in  the  few  moments  that  preceded  the  sending  out  of 
the  advertising  parties. 

I  helped  to  make  the  camp  and  each  particular 
detail  was  attended  to  by  each  of  the  three  men  with 
such  meticulous  care  that  it  was  time  for  the  sale 
when  the  thing  was  finished.  But  it  was  a  good 
camp:  it  would  have  stood  a  West  India  hurricane 
or  the  rigors  of  an  arctic  winter.  In  the  meantime 
Mr.  John  Bradford  spent  three  hours  in  listing  a 
small  number  of  articles  for  sale,  but  I  suppose  he 
would  have  taken  as  much  time  had  there  been  but 
one  article. 

The  sale  was  planned  and  executed  with  remark- 
able speed  and  success.  My  judgment  at  that  time 
was  in  some  respects  immature,  as  all  sums  above 
twenty-five  cents  were  to  me  entirely  incomprehen- 


CAM  CLARKE  51 

sible,  and  I  give  no  opinion  as  to  the  prices  realised. 
But  from  what  I  heard  afterwards  I  judge  that  they 
were  reasonably  high  and  that  each  article  was  the 
subject  of  the  most  spirited  bidding.  Mr.  John 
Bradford,  in  particular,  purchased  by  the  weight  of 
superior  wealth  a  number  of  articles  for  which  he 
had  no  possible  use.  In  this  he  was  closely  seconded 
by  Mr.  Skookum  Jones,  who,  though  auctioneer,  re- 
served  the  privilege  of  bidding  where  he  listed. 

At  any  rate,  at  about  eight  o'clock,  as  Cam  and  I 
were  poking  the  camp  fire,  Mr.  Skookum  Jones  rode 
in  on  his  pinto  cayuse,  threw  his  reins  on  the  ground 
and  came  in  amongst  us  with  a  bundle  of  coins  made 
up  in  an  elaborately  flowered,  clean  silk  handkerchief. 
Mr.  John  Bradford  was  with  him.  Skookum  silently 
presented  this  bundle  to  Mrs.  Clarke  with  as  low  a 
bow  as  the  squeaky  hinges  of  his  back  would  permit 
and  while  she  opened  it  with  an  eagerness  creditable 
to  a  lone  woman  with  a  child  to  support,  he  and  John 
Bradford  backed  up  to  the  fire  as  men  like  to  do.  I 
remember  that  with  the  smoke  and  sparks  circling  up 
behind  them  they  made  a  fantastic  picture  there  on 
the  prairie,  what  with  Mr.  Skookum  Jones's  long 
coat  and  high,  square  topped  hat  and  Mr.  Bradford's 
turned  up  trousers  and  faultless  cravat. 

Mrs.  Clarke  gave  a  little  exclamation  of  surprise 
when  the  pile  of  coins  was  revealed  to  her. 

"  It  could  not  have  been  so  much,"  she  protested. 
"  It  is  five  times  too  much." 

"  The  boys  was  fairly  appreciative  of  the  articles, 
ma'm,"  said  Skookum  jauntily  and  mendaciously. 
**  I  refer  in  particular  to  the  live  stock.  You  see 
Judge  Rusher  and  Mr.  Beauclerc  were  just  deter- 


52  CAM  CLARKE 

mined  to  have  'em.  And  others  needed  things, 
too/' 

"  It  Is  much  more  than  the  things  cost.  I  expected 
to  get  almost  nothing,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke  uneasily. 

*'  It's  a  good  market  here,"  said  Mr.  Bradford 
thoughtfully. 

"  You  got  'em  cheap,  too,"  said  Skookum  firmly, 
lighting  a  cigar,  "  and  of  course  you  make  a  little  on 
'em.  I  never  saw  sech  a  pop'lar  pair  of  mules  In 
my  life.  I  got  one  myself;  took  her  away  from 
Rusher  and  Beauclerc  and  Bradford,  here.  She'll 
make  a  fine  animal  when  she's  fat,  best  In  the  Palouse, 
I  guess.  Oh,  mules  are  good  property.  Yes  —  sir; 
just  thrive  on  bunch  grass,  yes'm." 

"Was  that  the  deformed  one?"  asked  Mrs. 
Clarke  quickly. 

"  Deformed  ?  —  not  much !  Just  bench-legged,  a 
sure  sign  of  strength,  ma'm.  Bradford,  here,  wanted 
her,  too.     Anybody  would." 

Mrs.  Clarke  made  a  queer  face  of  acceptance  and, 
I  think,  was  half  ready  to  cry.  Old  Skookum  evi- 
dently thought  so  too.  He  flung  himself  onto  his 
pinto  cayuse,  chirruped  to  him  and  our  good-nights 
could  scarcely  have  overtaken  him,  so  fast  he  went. 
Mr.  Bradford  said  good-night  very  formally  and 
also  left  promptly. 

We  sat  by  the  fire  for  a  long  time,  the  stars  came 
brighter  and  brighter  and  Sarah  Clarke  talked.  She 
told  me  about  New  York  and  Boston  and  theatres 
and  paved  streets  and  all  this  time  the  coyotes  were 
howling  on  the  hills.  I  did  not  believe  Boston  and 
New  York  really  existed,  still  It  was  entertaining  to 
hear  yarns  of  them.    Could  the  Palouse  Country  and 


CAM  CLARKE  53 

great  cities  be  on  the  same  earth  or  in  the  same  life? 
It  seemed  highly  improbable.  But  I  did  not  care. 
I  liked  the  Palouse  Country.  But  if  there  were  such 
places  I  would  take  a  week  off  when  I  was  grown  and 
go  look  at  them. 

Going  home  in  the  bright  starlight  I  looked  over 
my  shoulder  often  and  all  the  way  saw  Cam  and 
Sarah  Clarke  sitting  motionless  by  the  dying  camp 
fire.  They  were  strange ;  every  one  else  would  have 
gone  directly  to  bed,  dead  with  fatigue. 


CHAPTER  V 

TWO  days  later  in  the  forenoon  my  old  friend 
Mr.  "  Gunnysack  "  Charlie  Williams  came 
trailing  down  the  stage  road  behind  his  pack 
burro,  Mary,  while  ahead  of  Mary  was  the  bob- 
tailed,  brindle  dog  Bob,  with  his  tongue  hanging  out 
a  foot,  as  it  was  a  hot  day.  And  metaphorically 
speaking  Gunnysack  Charlie's  tongue  was  hanging 
out  too,  for  he  had  not  had  a  drink  of  hard  liquor  in 
months. 

Cam  and  I  saw  the  procession  coming  down  the 
gulch  when  it  was  a  mile  away.  I  recognised  it  at  a 
glance,  for  I  had  seen  Gunnysack  late  in  the  autumn 
before  when  we  first  came  to  Washtucna  and  no  one 
else  ever  had  an  outfit  like  his  or  travelled  as  he  did. 
His  frying  pan  was  polished  so  bright  that  it  shone 
like  a  mirror  and  every  buckle  and  fastening  was  pol- 
ished also.  But  Gunnysack  was,  as  usual,  clad  in  old 
rags  patched  with  burlap.  This  was  an  affectation  of 
his.  He  was  as  careful  in  choosing  his  rags  as  John 
Bradford  was  in  choosing  his  London  clothes  and,  to 
admit  the  truth,  they  were  as  becoming.  I  have  some 
doubt,  however,  as  to  whether  Gunnysack  Charlie  is 
normal  mentally  —  or  rather  I  have  no  doubt  that 
he  is  abnormal  —  although  if  I  did  not  feel  confident 
that  he  would  never  read  this  book  I  should  not  write 
thus  freely  of  him. 

Gunnysack  Williams  was  already  rather  a  friend  of 
mine.    He  had  liked  me  on  sight,  perhaps  because  my 

54 


CAM  CLARKE  55 

clothes  were  not  so  dissimilar  to  his.  I  had  told  Cam 
about  him,  so  we  strolled  out  to  meet  him.  He  was  in 
no  wise  changed  since  our  last  encounter  except  that 
he  looked  elated.  He  was  garbed  up  from  the  rag 
bag  but  he  was  scrupulously  clean  and  he  was  even 
neatly  and  freshly  shaven.  His  elation  was  bubbling 
over,  he  was  radiant  with  smiles  and  he  was  charmed 
and  delighted  to  see  us. 

*'  I'm  real  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Gunnysack,''  I  said, 
shaking  hands  with  him.  I  said  "  Mister  "  because 
I  knew  he  liked  titles.  "  YouVe  been  away  a  good 
while  too,  Mr.  Gunnysack,  and  Washtucna  has 
changed  a  lot.  There  are  lots  of  new  people  and 
this  here  is  Cam  Clarke,  who's  a  tenderfoot  here 
himself,  and  him  and  me  are  goin'  into  the  cow  busi- 
ness when  we  get  grown  up,  and  we  mostly  bum 
around  together." 

Cam  and  Mr.  Gunnysack  solemnly  shook  hands 
while  Mary  ate  a  sun-flower  top  and  Bob  wiped  him- 
self all  over  my  legs,  which  was  his  way  of  showing 
friendship.     Also  he  licked  me  with  his  big  tongue. 

"  Whisth,  ye  young  divils,"  said  Mr.  Gunnysack, 
"  I'd  have  ye  know  I've  been  up  amangst  the  snow  on 
the  Sivin  Divils  prospectin'  for  gold,  an'  me  all  alone, 
too ;  and  I  give  ye  me  word  that  it's  a  pleasure  to  see 
ye.  Cam,  me  bhoy,  this  town  Washtucna  must  av  in- 
flated itself  twinty-five  percint  since  ye  adopted  it  f'r 
a  home,  I  can  tell  by  the  spread  av  the  houses  — 
now  go  on,  Mary,  ye  she  divil,  ye  I  don't  be  afther 
atin'  all  the  sun-flowers  in  the  Palouse  I  Will  ye  go 
on  thin  —  ye.  Bob,  ye  I  have  ye  no  manners  wipin' 
yersilf  on  the  young  min  that  way?  Lave  be  I  And 
washin'  him  wid  yer  tongue  like  as  if  he  was  a  tin 


S6  CAM  CLARKE 

plate  with  bacon  on  it.  Have  ye  no  manners  at  all, 
at  all?" 

"  What  are  the  Seven  Devils?  "  asked  Cam  inter- 
estedly. 

"  Brawlin',  noisy  streams,  me  son;  lovely,  sor,  but 
freezin'  cold  and  with  the  mountains  risin'  straight 
up." 

"Did  you  find  gold,  Mr.  Gunnysack?  "  asked  Cam 
eagerly,  his  eyes  snapping. 

Gunnysack  looked  at  Cam  cautiously,  then  he 
smiled  and  winked  at  me  and  at  Bob  and  at  Mary 
and  at  the  prairie.  He  had  evidently  made  up  his 
mind  to  be  canny. 

"  Wudye  hear  the  bhoy.  Mart?  "  he  said,  address- 
ing me.  "  Wud  ye  but  hear  him?  He  asks  if  I 
found  it.  Phwat  may  his  name  be  afther  bein',  did 
ye  say?  The  young  divil,  and  ye  wud  be  afther 
startin'  a  gold  sthampede  t'morry,  I  s'pose,  or  stealin' 
me  claim.  Oh,  ye  divils  of  childers !  "  and  he 
laughed  good-naturedly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  Cam  Clarke,"  said  Cam  softly,  *'  and 
Mart  and  I  are  interested  in  gold,  ever  so  much." 

And  then  he  and  old  Gunnysack  had  a  serious  con- 
versation on  the  subject  of  gold.  Gunnysack  talked 
to  Cam  as  though  he  were  an  equal  in  age  and  ex- 
perience, which  he  never  does  to  me  to  this  day. 
This  was  a  characteristic  transaction  for  Cam:  that 
is  why  I  mention  it  at  length.  He  could  impress 
people.  He  had  personality  beyond  any  one  I  ever 
saw.     What  his  intelligence  is,  every  one  knows. 

"And  so  youVe  Cam  Clarke,  are  ye?"  said 
Gunnysack  softly,  in  a  voice  such  as  he  would  have 
used  if  he  were  accusing  him  of  being  Buffalo  Bill  or 


CAM  CLARKE  57 

Abraham  Lincoln  or  some  other  person  in  history. 
There  may  have  been  mockery  in  the  remark  but  it 
did  not  show.  Under  such  circumstances  I  should 
have  wiggled  and  run  away,  but  Cam  did  not;  any- 
thing that  came  along  seemed  entirely  natural  to  him. 

"  Did  you  say  you  found  gold?  "  asked  Cam  again, 
looking  at  Mary  very  carefully  and  even  stooping 
his  red  head  to  look  at  her  tiny  feet.  "  Did  you 
ever  find  gold  any  place,  Mr.  Gunnysack?  "  This 
was  insulting. 

Mr.  Gunnysack  smiled  shrewdly  again,  filled  his 
pipe  and  told  Mary  to  hurry  along.  "  Are  ye  not 
aware  yet,  me  friend,  from  Mart  here,"  he  protested 
gently,  "  that  I'm  half  owner  of  the  Gintle  Annie  and 
the  Bull-dog?  Yis,  sor,  I  came  over  the  mountains 
with  Mullin  in  Fifty-nine.  And  was  it  for  nothin'  ? 
Was  not  Cayuse  Jimmy  me  partner?  Oh,  I  have 
gold  stored  in  places  ye'd  niver  expect  —  but,  ye 
young  divil,  I'll  not  inform  ye  where,  not  I.  And  ye 
may  put  that  in  yer  pipe  and  smoke  it.  Ye'd  turn 
claim  jumper  and  'tis  not  a  gintle  profession.  I'd 
niver  forgive  mesilf  —  niver  —  but  look !  "  and  he 
unswathed  three  small  nuggets  and  allowed  us  to 
look  at  them. 

By  this  time  we  had  arrived  at  the  hitching  rack 
in  front  of  Donnelly's  store.  When  we  tied  up,  Mr. 
Donnelly  came  out  of  the  store  and  cast  his  cork- 
screw eye  contemplatively  over  Mr.  Gunnysack. 

"  You  are  back  again,"  he  said  languidly,  *'  and 
still  wearing  them  weeds  of  poverty.  'God  sake, 
Gunnysack,  come  in  and  I'll  give  you  some  store 
clothes.  I  get  so  sick  of  you ;  every  summer  same, 
only  worse." 


58  €AM  CLARKE 

"  Ye  may  go  to  hell,'*  said  Gunnysack  firmly,  and 
I  dodged  behind  the  burro  thinking  there  would  be  a 
fight  with  guns.  But  Cam  never  moved,  which 
events  proved  was  good  enough  policy. 

"  Will  ye  be  afther  sellin'  me  some  sugar  for  me 
mule?"  asked  Gunnysack  belligerently,  "  'r  has  yer 
sthore  got  any?  It  never  has  nothin'  as  I  remember 
it  —  and  yet,  have  I  iver  been  in  it  ?  I  don't  re- 
mimber  for  sure." 

"  I  will  not  sell  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Donnelly  lan- 
guidly, in  his  tired  voice,  at  the  same  time  holding  to 
Mary  some  brown*  sugar  in  his  hand.  As  Mary 
swept  it  up  with  her  lips,  he  reiterated,  "  I  will  not 
sell  to  you.  You  are  a  cruel  master  of  beasts  to  take 
her  so  far  fr'm  a  grocery  store  and  up  to  the  ever- 
lastin'  snow  on  the  Seven  Devils.  I'll  feed  her  my- 
self, as  her  master  cain't  take  care  of  her.  I  suppose 
you  got  nothin'  up  there  either  'cept  more  patches  and 
an  appetite.     I  suppose  — " 

"  I  repeat  it,  ye  may  go  to  hell,  Mr.  Donnelly," 
insisted  Gunnysack  doggedly.  "  Mart,  is  me  friend 
Jan  Havland  still  displnsin'  dew  drops  to  the  com- 
munity? Which  Is  to  say,  is  his  grog  dive  still 
open?  " 

"  He  is,"  said  Mr.  Donnelly,  answering  tiredly 
and  pulling  his  long  moustache  and  rolling  his  eye. 
'*  And  we'll  go  right  in  and  lift  one  in  together, 
Charlie,  as  I'm  anxious  to  hear  how  you've  avoided 
starving  for  another  year.  Your  efforts  being  so 
futile,  as  I  might  say."  And  he  took  Mr.  Gunnysack 
by  the  arm  and  led  him  into  the  Washtucna  Rest 
where  we  heard  them  still  apparently  quarrelling. 

I  came  out  from  behind  Mary,  the  burro.     Cam 


CAM  CLARKE  59 

was  sitting  at  some  few  feet  distance  tickling  Mary 
in  the  flank  with  a  thin  stick,  which,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  was  his  favourite  way  of  making  acquaint- 
ance with  horse  and  mule  animals  of  all  sorts.  If 
they  were  any  good  they  would  eventually  kick,  but 
if  they  kicked  too  soon  they  were  mean.  Mary  pres- 
ently kicked  and  Cam  was  satisfied.  He  thought  she 
was  about  right  for  a  mule. 

'*  Warn't  ye  afraid  they'd  fight?  "  I  asked  of  Cam 
afterwards. 

"  Shuh,"  said  Cam  assuredly,  "  they  wouldn't 
fight.  I  bet  they  have  been  abusin'  each  other  for- 
ever that  way.  I  bet  they  are  old  friends.  They 
do  it  for  fun." 

Afterwards  I  learned  that  Cam  was  right.  I 
heard  them  say,  indeed,  that  they  used  to  know  each 
other  down  in  Yreka  Flat,  California,  when  they 
were  young  men.  But  every  boy  could  not  have 
guessed  that  they  were  old  friends;  it  took  Cam. 

I  said,  "  Cam,  how  did  you  know?  " 

He  only  answered,  *'  Shuh,  can't  you  tell  a  jack 
knife  from  a  sheet  o'  paper?  " 

I  said  I  could;  and  that  was  all  the  answer  I  got. 
That  was  the  way  he  always  answered  questions. 
Such  answers  make  you  tired  at  first  but  as  you  re- 
member them  longer  than  any  other  kind  I  suppose 
they  are  good  answers.  And  if  you  made  a  whole 
lot  of  them  you'd  be  Cam  Clarke. 

That  morning  Bob  Dalton,  Pete  Barker  and 
Frenchy  Clemens  were  in  town,  as  I  could  tell  very 
easily  by  the  ponies  at  the  hitching  rack,  for  I  knew 
about  every  saddle  in  the  Palouse  Country,  though 
not  all  the  ponies,  which  were  without  number.     A 


6o  CAM  CLARKE 

little  while  after  Gunnysack  and  Donnelly  went  Into 
the  Rest,  I  heard  them  jabbering  around  and  talking 
and  talking  with  Dalton,  Barker  and  Clemens  and  I 
wondered  what  they  were  planning,  for  they  evi- 
dently were  not  quarrelling. 

I  said  presently,  "  Come  on.  Cam,  le's  go  see !  I 
can't  have  anything  go  on  around  here  and  me  not 
know  what  it  is.  Le's  go  into  Jan  Havland's  an' 
listen!" 

But  apparently  Cam  was  thinking  of  something 
important,  for  I  could  not  get  even  an  answer  out  of 
him.  Consequently  I  sneaked  away  alone,  and  as  I 
looked  back  I  saw  that  Cam  had  not  noticed  my  de- 
parture at  all.  He  was  a  strange  boy,  I  thought, 
but  always  faking  more  or  less.  I  could  not  under- 
stand him. 

When  I  got  into  the  Rest  to  see  what  they  were 
really  talking  about,  the  first  thing  I  heard  was 
Gunnysack's  voice.  He  was  talking  with  great  en- 
thusiasm of  building  a  house  for  Sarah  Clarke,  of 
whom  he  had  evidently  been  informed  In  great  detail 
by  the  other  Washtucna  gentlemen  present.  This, 
he  said,  would  be  his  contribution  as  he  had  missed 
the  sale. 

"  But  where  the  divil  shall  we  come  at  the  lumber? 
Me  virtue  is  as  Impatient  as  it  is  sympathetic  and  I'm 
wantin'  to  start  at  wanct.  I'll  not  wait  till  they  haul 
it  fr'm  Bricker's ;  no  sor,  I  will  not." 

"  If  you  gents  want  to  do  that,"  said  I,  carelessly 
sauntering  up,  "  why.  If  you  really  want  to,  what  you 
can  do  Is  to  hog  up  that  load  of  lumber  left  by  Mr. 
Ford  when  he  died  after  bein'  shot  by  Aleck  Stout 
that  time,  which  you'll  remember,  as  It's  left  down  by 


CAM  CLARKE  6i 

the  ford  of  Day's  Creek,  just  where  he  threw  it  off 
the  wagon  when  his  team  got  stuck." 

Mr.  Pete  Barker  turned  around  and  looked  down 
for  the  source  of  this  small  voice  that  was  volunteer- 
ing the  advice.  When  he  saw  it  was  I,  he  grinned 
good-naturedly.  *'  I  declare,"  said  he  sweetly,  but 
ironically,  "  how  is  it  you  and  your  dad  haven't 
pinched  that  lumber  for  wood?  It  looks  to  me  as 
though  the  Irish  folks  in  this  district  are  getting  more 
and  more  shiftless.  It's  awful,  so  it  is.  They  are 
the  most  shiftless  people  there  are,  and  hoUerin'  for 
wood,  too.     You  sure  overlooked  a  bet,  sonny." 

I  replied  to  irony  with  irony,  which  any  Irish  boy 
can  do  as  soon  as  he  can  talk.  "  You  know  your- 
self, Mr.  Barker,"  I  said,  "  that  takin'  things  like 
that  is  stealin',  an'  I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk  about 
'em  that  way  or  make  sech  mean  remarks  about 
my  pa." 

Mr.  Gunnysack  Charlie  looked  at  me  puzzledly 
and  scratched  his  head.  He  knew  I  had  stolen 
watermelons  in  Iowa,  for  I  had  told  him  so.  He  did 
not  understand  my  talk  now,  but  he  bravely  winked 
at  me,  as  much  as  saying,  '*  Trust  me ;  I'll  never  tell 
on  you." 

"  This  saloon  resort,"  said  Gunnysack  with  a 
start,  coming  to  a  sense  of  duty,  "  ain't  no  place  for 
childers,  so  she  isn't." 

"  Sure  it  ain't,"  agreed  Mr.  Pete  Barker,  lifting 
me  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck  and  the  patched  seat  of 
my  trousers,  "  sure  it  ain't,"  and  he  carried  me  to  the 
door  and  set  me  down  gently  outside  it.  ''  Now  run 
on.  Mart,"  he  jeered  softly,  "  and  if  we  want  any 
more  help  we'll  send  for  you.'* 


62  CAM  CLARKE 

I  stepped  away,  then  turned  around  and  cursed 
him,  as  that,  at  that  time,  was  my  idea  of  the  way  a 
spirited  boy  should  act.  Cam  would  have  known 
better.  Mr.  Barker  only  grinned  and  closed  the 
door.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  he  thought  my  retort 
clever.  Of  course  he  was  mistaken.  A  boy  gets 
much  misinformation  about  different  things  but  more 
about  manners  than  about  anything  else. 

I  went  away  without  any  hard  feelings  whatever 
and  sneaked  up  and  kicked  Cam  in  the  ribs  and  told 
him  to  cheer  up  because  the  citizens  of  Washtucna 
were  going  to  build  him  and  Sarah  Clarke  a  palace. 

Cam  was  trying  to  catch  a  butterfly  with  a  steel 
trap  made  for  coyotes.  He  had  borrowed  it  from 
Mary's  pack  without  Gunnysack  Charlie's  consent. 
I  did  not  think  that  it  was  well  designed  for  butterfly 
work  but  Cam  said  it  would  do  and  then  he  punched 
me  for  kicking  him  and  called  me  a  liar  for  saying 
that  Washtucna  would  build  him  and  his  mother  a 
palace.  As  a  result  we  had  a  fight  which  lasted  for 
a  long  while  and  I  got  pretty  well  licked.  After  that 
we  made  up  and  we  did  not  have  to  fight  each  other 
again  for  months.     That  was  out  of  our  systems. 

The  idea  of  a  house  for  Sarah  Clarke  did  not  go 
from  Gunnysack  Charlie's  mind.  He  kept  busy. 
He  gathered  a  crowd  around  him  and  he  had,  by  the 
time  Cam  and  I  were  free  from  fighting  each  other, 
got  aboard  tremendous  loads  of  rum,  energy  and 
enthusiasm  and  such  other  stuff  as  makes  you  talk  of 
building  things.  But  he  still  seemed  pretty  sober 
and  he  went  around  and  made  everybody  in  Wash- 
tucna that  day  say  that  he  also  wanted  to  build  Sarah 
Clarke   a   house.     And,   indeed,   all  of  them  did. 


CAM  CLARKE  63 

They  had  not  any  of  them  become  staled  on  the 
pleasure  of  simultaneously  doing  a  pretty  woman  and 
their  town  a  service.  . 

Of  Gunnysack's  converts  Mr.  Pete  Barker  and 
Mr.  Bob  Dalton  were  excessively  enthusiastic  and 
they  were  practical.  They  went  to  work  at  once. 
Now  Mr.  Pete  Barker  was  undoubtedly  the  most 
elegant  gambler  in  the  Palouse  Country  but  he  never- 
theless stripped  down  to  a  boiled  shirt.  Then  he 
and  Bob  Dalton  and  Gunnysack  impressed  a  teamster 
who  was  hauling  flour  to  Colfax  but  who  had  stopped 
for  a  drink  in  Washtucna.  They  gave  him  several 
additional  drinks,  whereupon  he  became  interested 
in  building  operations  himself.  They  unloaded  his 
flour  and  made  him  haul  lumber  from  the  pile  of  the 
late  lamented  Mr.  Ford  down  near  the  creek,  which 
the  teamster  said  he  was  glad  to  do.  At  this  point 
Mr.  John  Bradford  took  off  his  English  coat,  rolled 
up  the  sleeves  of  his  monogrammed  shirt  and  heart- 
ily turned  to. 

In  the  course  of  the  afternoon  other  men  took  the 
contagion.  And  still,  as  the  word  spread,  others  and 
others  came  until  there  were  more  than  fifty  men  at 
work.  And  every  man  who  came  stayed.  Public 
opinion  on  that  point  was  inexorable. 

At  first  no  one  knew  where  or  what  to  build  but 
presently  Judge  Rusher  donated  a  plot  of  ground  in 
the  heart  of  town.  The  variety  of  house  was  easier 
yet.  They  made  it  like  all  the  rest  of  the  houses  in 
the  Palouse  Country  and  if  any  one  doubted  that  it 
was  beautiful,  he  omitted  to  say  so.  I,  of  late  years, 
have  had  such  doubts,  but  it  serves  me  right  for  ever 
travelling  in  Italy.     Of  the  utility  of  the  model  and 


64  C^M  CLARKE 

of  the  ease  of  throwing  it  together  there  could  be  no 
possible  question.  It  was  to  have  four  rooms  and  a 
little  porch.  Mr.  Skookum  Jones  held  out  for  some- 
thing more  pretentious  but  was  voted  down. 

They  made  a  fearful  racket  with  their  hammers 
and  saws  and  they  looked  as  busy  as  though  they  were 
building  a  gallows  for  a  horse  thief;  and,  indeed,  a 
hanging  would  not  have  excited  more  enthusiasm. 
They  were  really  busy.  Of  the  whole  force  only 
McGrath  stole  away  jfrom  work  to  Jan  Havland's 
saloon.  The  rest  worked  and  continued  to  work. 
They  would  have  "  handed  "  Whitey  some  substan- 
tial mark  of  disapproval  but  they  were  too  busy. 
Saints  and  Sinners,  people  who  had  threatened  to  kill 
each  other,  old  friends  and  old  enemies,  tottering 
Skookum  Jones  and  the  Amazon  Mrs.  Hoefner,  all 
working  side  by  side  and  sweating.  And  they 
worked  efficiently  in  their  rough  way,  for  they  were 
people  used  to  doing  anything  from  frying  an  egg  to 
performing  a  rude  operation  in  surgery.  Of  them 
all  no  man  worked  harder  than  Mr.  John  Bradford, 
who  soon  had  blisters  on  parts  of  his  hands  which 
he  had  never  before  known  to  be  in  existence. 

Jokes  went  around,  also  serious  remarks.  I  be- 
lieve it  was  generally  admitted  that  Mrs.  Hoefner 
was  the  best  mechanic  on  the  job,  that  Judge  Rusher 
was  fatter  than  a  man  needed  to  be  for  a  foot  race 
and  that  Mr.  Beauclerc's  back  cracked  when  he 
stooped  over,  as  your  big  toe  does  when  you  bend  it. 
Old  Jimmy  Day  had  the  misfortune  to  break  his 
arm  and  my  father  fell  off  the  roof,  but  thanks  to  his 
usual  condition  of  semi-Intoxication  he  was  uninjured. 
His  remarks  in  comment  on  this  fall  were  Inspiring. 


CAM  CLARKE  '65 

These  events,  however,  In  no  wise  dampened  the  en- 
thusiasm of  the  party.  Frequently  some  hoarse 
voice  would  shout,  "  Hurrah  for  Washtucnal  "  or, 
"  Hurrah  for  Sarah  Clarke !  "  and  everybody  would 
howl  like  a  she-wolf.  Sometimes  again  they  sang 
hymns,  which  Mr.  Beauclerc  would  lead  in  his  best 
Sunday  voice. 

I  do  not  know  where  Sarah  Clarke  stayed  that  day, 
but  she  never  came  near  the  new  house.  She  knew 
what  the  noise  was  about,  for  Cam  and  I  told  her; 
but  when  we  proposed  that  we  all  go  over,  she  re- 
fused with  some  feeling,  so  Cam  and  I  went  without 
her.  As  we  went,  I  remember  that  she  looked  pale. 
I  suppose  she  could  not  have  been  well,  and  yet  she 
was  very  beautiful. 

They  worked  all  afternoon,  and  for  half  the 
night  they  worked  with  lanterns  and  next  morn- 
ing they  worked  again.  They  supplemented  the 
first  load  of  lumber  with  more  from  I  know  not 
where.  They  stole  window  glass  and  nails  from 
old  Donnelly,  who  shut  his  eyes  while  they  stole, 
and  then  he  topped  it  by  giving  them  a  small 
cook  stove.  They  manufactured  tables  and  chairs, 
and  Mr.  McPetherick,  the  keeper  of  the  hotel,  dis- 
covered that  the  Tennessee  Restaurant  had  more 
dishes  than  it  could  possibly  use,  so  he  brought  some 
over,  as  he  said,  "  to  get  shet  of  them."  They  got 
two  beds  from  somewhere,  Mr.  John  Bradford  got 
a  refrigerator,  Jan  Havland  promised  to  keep  it  in 
ice ;  and  finally  at  noon  next  day  the  house  was  pro- 
nounced finished  and  furnished  to  the  last  detail, 
Mrs.  Rusher  and  Mrs.  Beauclerc  being  called  upon 
to  verify  the  condition.     That  afternoon  Washtucna 


66  CAM  CLARKE 

was  in  a  peculiar  condition,  it  was  calm,  as  calm  as  a 
frozen  lake.  This  was  by  agreement :  no  boisterous 
conduct  or  quarrelling  should  mar  the  day,  and,  for 
fear  of  disregarding  the  agreement,  people  spoke 
under  their  breath. 

Mr.  Pete  Barker  voiced  the  sentiments  of  the  com- 
munity concerning  these  remarkable  hours  of  quiet. 
"  We  should  be  gen'rous  and  high-spirited,"  said  he, 
rising  to  the  full  height  of  his  seventy-four  inches, 
"  but  this  occasion  is  one  demandin'  dignified  and 
reserved  conduct  on  the  part  of  every  lady  present, 
also  gents.  Person'ly  I  see  no  objection  to  takin'  a 
drink,  providin'  you  keep  the  thing  silent  and  orderly 
after  you  get  it  down.  But  such  drinks  as  stir  up  hell 
in  folks  should  be  left  unconsumed.  To-night  we'll 
have  dedication  ceremonies,  with  regard  to  which 
Mr.  Gunnysack  Williams,  who  heads  this  movement, 
is  consultin'  Mr.  John  Bradford,  which  is  aa  eastern 
sharp  and  versed  in  etiquette.  Likewise  he  consults 
Skookum  Jones  and  yours  truly." 

And  so  the  town  either  imbibed  silently  or  not  at 
all.  There  was  a  Sabbath  quiet  on  the  place;  not 
the  Sabbath  quiet  of  Washtucna,  for  Washtucna  had 
no  Sabbath  quiet;  but  the  Sabbath  quiet  of  some  town 
that  gave  as  much  attention  to  church  bells  as  Wash- 
tucna did  to  enjoying  herself  in  ruder  recreations. 

The  dedication  ceremonies  started  shortly  after  the 
crowded  Colfax  stage  rolled  in,  in  a  cloud  of  dust, 
from  Spokane.  Mr.  Pete  Barker,  Mr.  Gunnysack 
Williams,  Mr.  John  Bradford  and  Mr.  Skookum 
Jones  made  a  committee  which  had  the  approval  and 
confidence  of  every  one  and  their  actions  were  backed 
up  and  indorsed.     They  handled  the  affairs  of  the 


CAM  CLARKE  67 

evening  with  vigour  and  promptness.  First  they 
politely  emptied  the  stage  of  all  passengers.  They 
said  they  wanted  to  borrow  the  coach  and  by  way  of 
recompense  to  travellers  they  extended  to  them  *'  the 
hospitality  of  the  city  "  and  the  use  of  Jan  Havland's 
bar.  Then  they  drove  off  in  haste  to  the  tune  of 
cracking  whip  after  Sarah  Clarke  to  bring  her  to 
her  new  house.  That  there  was  something  quaint 
and  incongruous  in  the  whole  arrangement  I  can  now 
readily  see.  Sarah  Clarke  could  have  walked  over 
while  the  passengers  were  being  cleared  away,  as  she 
was  close  at  hand,  but  Washtucna  on  this  occasion 
wanted  style  and  formality  and  Washtucna  would 
have  it  or  die.  I  remember  that  some  of  the  pas- 
sengers protested  at  ejection.  To  these  Mr.  Pete 
Barker  talked  very  patiently. 

"  You  all  gents  understand,  I  hope,"  he  said  softly, 
"  that  this  riotous  measure  is  taken  without  any 
desire  to  impede  the  traffic  of  this  line.  It  is  dire 
necessity  — " 

"  It's  an  outrage  I  "  sputtered  a  little  man  with  a 
big  moustache. 

"Come  here,  brother;  now  heshi  or  Til  choke 
you,"  said  Mr.  Bob  Dalton,  sardonically  pulling  the 
little  man  towards  him  and  clapping  his  hand  over 
his  mouth.  "  Shove  off  the  stage  I  Keep  still,  you 
little  devil,  or  I'll  bite  off  your  head  I  " 

That  was  the  end  of  his  protest,  and,  as  I  have 
said,  the  stage  went  for  Sarah  Clarke  at  a  run. 
They  brought  her  back  on  the  seat  beside  the  driver, 
which  is,  as  every  one  knows,  the  seat  of  honour  on 
account  of  the  charming  conversation  of  stage  drivers. 
I  remember  how  she  looked  as  the  stage  bore  down 


68  CAM  CLARKE 

on  the  big  bon-fire :  pale,  oh,  very  pale,  yet  I  thought 
her  heart-breakingly  beautiful;  as  beautiful  as  the 
pale  morning  stars.  All  Washtucna  thought  so  too 
and  as  she  climbed  down  from  the  high  seat  they 
stood  about  in  awed  silence. 

They  cleared  a  space  in  front  of  the  new  house  and 
while  Sarah  Clarke  sat  in  an  arm  chair  in  the  door- 
way with  the  firelight  flickering  brightly  upon  her 
face,  Mr.  Skookum  Jones  mounted  upon  a  box  bor- 
rowed from  Donnelly's  store  for  the  occasion.  He 
stood  for  some  time,  his  hand  across  his  chest,  look- 
ing at  them  all  one  by  one  until  they  were  totally 
silent  again. 

*'  Gents,"  said  he,  finally  commencing  to  speak,  his 
voice  somewhat  hoarse  at  first,  "  gents,  by  the  aid  of 
Mr.  Gunnysack  Charlie  Williams,  Washtucna  has 
at  length  unlimbered  her  public  spirit.  Gunnysack 
has  come  down  out  of  the  snowy  Seven  Devils  with  a 
message  for  us,  which  message  was  brotherly  love 
and  enterprise  and  philanthropy  and  has  bore  fruit. 
Hereafter  Washtucna  can  be  counted  upon  to  slam 
the  shrapnel  of  philanthropy,  brotherly  love  and  en- 
terprise into  every  livin'  carcass  of  a  proposition  that 
arises  from  the  bunch  grass  of  these  Palouse  Hills. 
We  don't  propose  to  be  excelled  in  this  kind  of  shoot- 
ing any  more  than  in  the  ordinary  bullet  and  powder 
kind.  And  now,  gents,  on  your  behalf,  I  have  the 
pleasure  and  rionour  to  present  this  little  house  to  the 
noble  lady  whose  lovely  character  and  high  intelli- 
gence has  made  the  worthless  efforts  of  this  com- 
munity blossom  like  alfalfa  under  an  irrigation  ditch 
in  the  desert.  And  as  I  make  this  little  offering, 
which  all  hands  have  laboured  at  —  and  with  great 


CAM  CLARKE  69 

comfort  —  I  propose  three  cheers  for  Mrs.  Sarah 
Cameron  Clarke,  the  lily  and  the  wild-rose  and  the 
sunflower  of  this  district,  and  for  Mr.  Gunnysack 
Charlie  Williams.     Hip-hip  — " 

They  raised  the  cry,  not  with  three  cheers,  but 
with  twenty  or  ninety,  a  fusillade  of  them.  I  remem- 
ber, amongst  other  things,  that  Mr.  Pete  Barker 
calmly  and  coolly  cheered  louder  and  longer  than  any 
one.  When  the  others  from  hoarseness  and  lack  of 
wind  desisted,  he  continued.  He  howled  like  a  she 
coyote  in  spring  time,  then  he  howled  like  a  timber 
wolf,  until  no  other  person  than  Mr.  Gunnysack 
Charlie  Williams  felt  the  impropriety  of  the  noise 
and  shut  it  off  with  a  hand  like  a  ham. 

And  then  Sarah  Clarke,  with  tears  streaming  down 
her  thin  face  but  with  eyes  that  flashed  with  a  fine 
languorous  fire,  stood  up  and  waited  and  we  all  be-^ 
came  so  still  that  I  heard  the  gurgling  of  the  little 
creek  a  mile  away  and  every  man's  heart  beats  were 
loud  in  his  own  ears.  Then  a  puff  of  wind  came 
down  the  little  valley  and  whined  disconsolately  at 
the  corners,  as  is  the  habit  of  winds  in  prairie  lands. 

When  she  started  to  thank  those  men,  mostly 
brown-faced  men,  twisted  and  gnarled  by  their  rough 
lives,  her  voice  was  broken,  but  her  last  words  were 
as  clear  and  flawless  and  lovely  as  pure  water. 

"I  thank  you  very  much,"  she  said;  "I  thank 
you;  I  feel  at  home  amongst  you.  I,"  and  she 
smiled  through  her  tears,  "  I  loveisfou  all,  every 
one." 

When  she  stepped  down  from  the  little  box  we 
were  all  silent  again  until  a  gaunt,  broad  shouldered, 
bearded  man,  a  passenger  from  the  Colfax  stage. 


^o  CAM  CLARKE 

which,  on  account  of  the  curiosity  of  the  passengers, 
had  not  yet  departed,  pushed  his  way  to  the  centre 
and  stood  up  on  the  box  himself. 

"  Mrs.  Clarke,  and  ladies  and  gents,"  said  he  in  a 
harsh  voice,  and  he  pulled  his  long  beard  to  one  side 
with  a  bony  hand  and  showed  his  teeth  in  a  leer  which 
had  no  business  to  be  pleasing  but  nevertheless  was, 
"  gents,  I  am  A.  J.  Punts,  M.D.,  and  Punts  is  with 
you  to  the  topmost  limit  of  your  pile  of  blues.  I  own 
a  ticket  to  Colfax,  but  I'm  going  to  stop  right 
here.  No  weak  shilly-shallying  for  me.  I  stay.  I 
recognise  public  spirit  when  I  see  it  and  I  see  it  now. 
You  got  it. 

"  This  is  the  place  IVe  been  hunting  for,  but  Tve 
been  hunting  in  the  wrong  place,  mostly  in  Montana. 
This  is  hereafter  the  home  of  A.  J.  Punts,  M.D.,  he" 
stays  for  good.  And  that  being  the  case  I  regret 
being  late  for  co-operating  in  this  building  and  phil- 
anthropic demonstration  you've  pulled  off.  It's  a 
good  job.  And  now,  as  I'm  too  late  to  help  in  that, 
I'd  like  to  have  the  privilege  of  presenting  to  this 
lady,  gratis,  the  lease  of  my  medical  services  as  she 
may  need  'em,  which  may  it  be  seldom,  just  as  long  as 
we  both  do  live.  Yes,  sir!  Gents,  as  I've  already 
indicated,  with  your  permission  I'll  stow. my  bony  legs 
and  share  and  share  alike  play  at  the  municipal  poker 
table  of  this  place.  And,  gents,  with  enthusiasm  I 
propose  three  cheers  more  for  Mrs.  Sarah  Cameron 
Clarke.     Hip-hip  — " 

We  cheered  again  until  we  choked  down  like  a 
political  orator  at  the  close  of  a  "  whirlwind  cam- 
paign,"—  the  same  being  no  more  like  a  whirlwind 
than  like  a  corkscrew  and  no  one  says  "  corkscrew 


CAM  CLARKE  71 

campaigns; ''  I  wonder  why  not.  Mr.  Pete  Barker's 
voice  persevered  as  before  until  reduced  by  the  per- 
sonal application  of  Gunnysack's  hand. 

After  that  Sarah  Clarke  kissed  Mr.  Gunnysack 
Charlie,  and  everybody  but  me  went  home  tired  and 
satisfied  and  the  stage  pulled  out  amidst  the  cheers 
of  its  own  passengers.  But  I  stayed  on  with  Cam 
and  his  mother  for  supper  and  during  that  meal  she 
got  up  twenty  times  and  kissed  Cam  and  me  and, 
though  of  course  it  made  me  hot  and  uncomfortable 
and  I  squirmed,  I  really  did  not  object  so  very  much. 
And  I  made  up  my  mind  that  I  liked  her  —  I  was  not 
sure,  indeed,  that  I  did  not  like  her  as  well  as  my  own 
mother  who  lay  up  In  the  shadow  of  the  flat  topped 
Montana  mountain  where  we  had  camped  three 
nights  on  that  endless  journey  west. 

Over  town  they  were  carrying  Mr.  Gunnysack 
Charlie  on  their  shoulders  and  singing  war  songs. 
That  was  the  great  night  of  Gunnysack  Charlie's 
life.  He  still  talks  of  it  after  thirty  years  have  gone 
on  and  by. 

Just  as  I  left,  Mr.  John  Bradford  put  his  head  in 
at  the  door.  **  If  there  is  any  way  In  which  I  can 
help  you,"  he  said,  "  I  shall  be  glad  if  you'll  tell  me 
or  send  word  —  good-night  I  " 

On  my  way  home  I  met  Dr.  Punts  and  Skookum 
Jones  going  to  enquire,  said  Skookum,  "  if  there  be 
any  way  in  which  we  can  serve  her,"  to  which  senti- 
ment Dr.  Punts  snarled  a  pleasant  assent.  These 
things  were  of  a  significance  which  I,  in  those  days, 
little  understood. 


CHAPTER  VI 

ONE  morning  about  a  week  after  the  house  was 
finished,  I  met  Cam  carrying  two  books,  a 
slate  and  a  lunch  basket.  He  was  shiningly 
clean  and  he  said  he  was  going  to  school,  as  Sarah 
Clarke  had  decided  that,  though  she  could  teach  him 
herself,  it  would  be  better  to  have  him  go  to  school 
and  associate  with  the  other  boys  of  the  town ;  be- 
sides, Cam  wanted  to  go  for  he  thought  it  would  be 
fun. 

Going  to  school  had  not  thitherto  been  very  fash- 
ionable with  me  and  I  had,  indeed,  about  given  it  up 
as  a  habit.  There  were  a  number  of  reasons:  some 
days  I  did  not  feel  like  going,  on  other  days  I  had  real 
work  to  do  and  on  still  other  days  I  was  afraid  to 
go  for  fear  of  being  thrashed  for  my  previous  ab- 
sences. This  fear  was  well  founded :  Professor  Stil- 
son  received  no  excuses.  Besides,  I  had  not  really 
believed  in  education.  It  might  make  you  look  or 
act  like  Prof.  J.  Stilson,  the  teacher,  and  I  had 
wanted  to  be  in  every  respect  like  Mr.  Bob  Dalton, 
who  had  no  education*  at  all.  But  Cam  Clarke's 
going  to  school  made  it  look  different.  If  education 
was  good  for  him,  it  ought  not  to  hurt  me  very  much. 
I  decided  I  would  give  it  another  chance.  Besides,  I 
did  not  want  Cam  to  get  started  wrong  with  the  boys 
who  came  from  the  ranches  to  school.  I  knew,  of 
course,  that  he  would  have  a  fight  with  Sandy  Rusher, 

72 


CAM  CLARKE  73 

that  was  inevitable,  and  I  wanted  to  see  Sandy 
"  licked  "  by  Cam  just  as  I  had  been.  That  would 
make  Cam  all  right  with  the  ranch  boys.  And  I 
knew  Sandy  would  be  "  licked,"  if  Cam  had  a  fair 
chance,  for  Cam  had  the  calmest,  most  insidious  and 
undeniable  way  of  fighting  I  had  seen  up  till  then  — 
or  until  now,  for  that  matter.  And,  further,  it  was 
the  kind  of  fighting  Sandy  could  not  stand,  the  calcu- 
lated, silent  yet  passionate  kind.  Cam  was  as  dis- 
concerting as  a  bull  terrier. 

So  I  went  along  with  Cam  down  to  the  log  school- 
house  by  the  creek  and  we  both  went  straight  up  to 
the  rostrum  where  Professor  Jim  Stilson  was  sitting, 
chewing  tobacco  and  reading  the  Dramatic  Tom' 
peep.  This  was  characteristic.  Tradition  said  he 
had  once  been  an  actor.  At  any  rate  he  used  all  his 
spare  time  looking  at  the  pictures  of  ladies  in  tights. 

"  Professor,''  I  said,  "  I've  been  obliged  to  be 
away  here  for  several  days  running,  on  account 
of  sickness  and  work  and  such  things  —  you  know 
how  it  is  in  a  large  family  —  but  I  hope  it  ain't 
spoiled  the  school  none,  as  I  expect  to  come  just  plum 
regular  after  this  as  I'm  determined  to  be  educated." 

Mr.  Stilson  looked  at  me  calmly  and  sceptically, 
bit  off  a  chew  of  tobacco,  pulled  his  dyed  black  mous- 
tache with  his  crooked  finger  and  thumb,  rubbed  his 
bald  head  and  remarked  severely  that  as  far  as  he 
was  able  to  see,  my  absence  had  been  much  more  help- 
ful to  the  school  than  my  presence.  Nevertheless, 
for  my  own  sake  he  was  glad  to  see  me  back. 

*'  Who's  this  other  young  man?  "  he  asked,  jerk- 
ing his  finger  at  Cam,  throwing  one  long  leg  across 
the  desk  and  looking  me  fiercely  in  the  eye. 


74  CAM  CLARKE 

I  felt  hopeful,  because  always  heretofore  Mr.  Stil- 
son  had  taken  me  firmly  by  the  scruff  of  the  neck 
before  he  addressed  any  remarks  to  me.  Perhaps 
he  would  try  moral  suasion  on  me  instead  of  brute 
strength.  I  hoped  so,  for,  other  people's  statements 
to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  moral  suasion  was 
pleasanter. 

"  This  is  Cam  Clarke,''  said  I,  "  whose  ma  and 
him  just  arrived  recent  in  Washtucna.  I  reckon 
you've  heard  of  her.  He's  been  to  school  in 
Worcester,  Mass.,  where  they  have  the  champion 
teachers  of  the  U.S.  and — " 

"  Well,  Cam,"  said  Mr.  Stilson,  languidly  break- 
ing in  on  me,  putting  the  other  foot  on  the  desk  and 
leaning  back  while  he  pulled  both  moustaches  simul- 
taneously, "  I've  heard  that  you  are  a  boy  of  excellent 
character,  but  it  sure  does  seem  to  me  that  you  are 
gettin'  into  about  the  worst  comp'ny  you  could  find  in 
Washtucna  if  you  hunted.  You  sure  are  in  bad  and 
you  better  change." 

Cam  said  afterwards  that  the  professor  had  in- 
sulted me.  It  made  Cam  mad,  although  I  had  not 
minded  at  all  —  indeed,  I  had  rather  enjoyed  it. 
He  told  me  later  that  he  knew  the  way  he  spoke  in 
reply  to  Professor  Stilson  was  not  a  tactful  manner 
of  addressing  a  schoolmaster,  but  he  felt  just  "  plum 
insolent."  As  far  as  I  was  concerned,  I  thought 
what  Cam  said  was  all  right,  too,  for  I  was  as  accus- 
tomed to  "jaw  back  "  at  people  as  I  was  to  being 
insulted. 

"  Professor  Stilson,"  he  said  in  a  voice  as  sweet  as 
a  canary  bird's  and  as  mild  as  a  cat  on  Sunday  morn- 
ing, '*  now  I  don't  think  you're  bad  company  at  all;  I 


CAM  CLARKE  75 

think  youVe  hard  on  yourself.  I  don't  mind  being 
here  with  you  the  least  bit;  which  is  what  you  mean, 
I  suppose,  by  saying  I'm  in  bad  company.  Perhaps 
some  of  the  boys  are  prejudiced  against  you,  but  I 
ain't.     I  think  you  are  all  right." 

Of  course  Cam  had  misinterpreted  Professor  Stil- 
son  purposely  and  his  reply  naturally  made  Stilson 
angry  and  red  in  the  face,  but  Cam's  speckled  eyes 
looked  straight  at  him  and  never  wavered  and  old 
Jim  really  thought  Cam  was  innocent.  I  did  not. 
I  knew  better  and  I  decided  that  Cam  was  an  inter- 
esting schoolmate. 

Professor  Stilson  did  not  know  what  to  do,  but  as 
I  snickered  out  loud  he  made  a  decision,  boxed  me  a 
smart  clip  on  the  ear  and  sent  me  to  stand  in  the 
corner  for  the  rest  of  the  morning.  Then  he  bawled 
out  in  deep  chested,  melodramatic  tones  for  Cam  to 
take  the  front  seat  and  stay  there,  and  he  glowered 
at  Cam  like  a  sick  bull. 

Cam  thanked  him  very  politely  and  said  he  had 
always  preferred  a  front  seat  anyway  and  always 
had  one  in  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  as  it  kept  him 
from  being  bothered  and  gave  him  a  good  chance  to 
study.  Then  he  winked  at  me,  sat  down  and  started 
taking  an  old  Waterbury  watch  to  pieces  behind  his 
geography,  which  enterprise  made  him  look  studious. 

When  little  Julie  Beauclerc  came  in  and  saw  Cam, 
the  new  boy,  sitting  on  the  front  seat  the  first  day, 
she  was  indignant.  She  had  never  heard  of  such  a 
cruel  thing  in  all  her  experience,  she  said,  and  she 
stamped  her  foot  and  her  eyes  snapped  and  she  flung 
her  black,  short  hair  around  until  she  could  hardly 
see.     Mr.  Jim  Stilson  pretended  not  to  see  or  hear 


^6  f  AM  CLARKE 

her,  for  like  everybody  else  he  liked  Julie  Beauclerc 
and  helped  spoil  her.  But  he  kept  Cam  on  the  front 
seat,  which  was  not  a  bad  guess. 

I  spent  the  forenoon  in  peeping  around  the  corner 
of  my  head  and  in  throwing  paper  wads  at  people 
when  old  Jim's  back  was  turned.  I  hit  Sandy  Rusher 
once  in  the  eye,  I  remember,  and  I  thought  this  hit 
instructive,  for  that  eye  cried,  but  the  other  did  not; 
which  shows  that  I  was  a  scientist  by  nature  and 
could  have  learned  vivisection.  I  have  since  seen 
women  who  could  do  the  same  thing,  metaphorically 
speaking,  without  even  being  struck  by  a  spit  ball.  I 
mean  they  could  cry  with  one  eye  while  the  other  one 
winked.  Incidentally,  Julie  Beauclerc  was  not  one 
of  those  women;  when  she  cried  she  did  it  from  keel 
to  truck  and  she  vibrated  like  an  ocean  greyhound. 

Julie  was  a  nice  girl  and  comforting.  At  recess 
she  sneaked  up  and  whispered  that  she  was  sorry  for 
me  and  Cam  both,  and  as  she  said  it  she  put  a  piece 
of  peppermint  candy  right  in  my  pocket.  It  was 
dirty  but  I  did  not  care.  I  would  have  eaten  it  if  it 
had  been  poisoned  and  I  knew  It.  Then  she  said 
that  the  way  Mr.  Stilson  ran  a  school  did  not  suit 
her;  It  was  wicked  and  if  she  knew  anything  about  the 
way  God  intended  such  places  to  go,  Mr.  Stilson 
would  some  day  get  blasted  up  by  Providence  as  a 
punishment;  yes,  sir,  blasted  up  like  a  cottonwood 
stump  with  dynamite.  Besides,  Professor  Stilson 
was  a  mean  old,  tobacco  chewing  sneak,  anyway.  I 
agreed  with  her.  Of  later  years  I  have  resented 
Professor  Stilson's  harshness  less ;  but  I  have  resented 
more  the  systematic  efforts  he  contrived  to  make  to 
keep  us  all  in  Ignorance.     Not  that  it  matters,  how- 


CAM  CLARKE  77 

ever.     I  only  mean  that  he  strangled  Interest  in  every 
subject  he  taught. 

I  agreed  heartily,  In  fact,  with  everything  Julie 
said,  for  old  Jim  kept  me  In  that  corner  during  all  of 
recess  and,  for  that  matter,  for  all  the  forenoon,  too. 
It  was  mighty  hard  because  I  knew  what  was  going 
forward  outside  during  recess.  Frequently  I  heard 
Sandy's  voice  raised  in  lament  or  abuse.  He  and 
Cam  were  evidently  preparing  to  fight  by  having 
Sandy  talk  a  lot.  That  was  just  as  necessary  to 
Sandy  as  priming  is  to  an  old-fashioned  wooden 
pump.  He  always  was  that  way  and  still  is.  But 
Cam  was  a  new  force  pump,  ready  when  you  are. 
Once  I  heard  what  Sandy  said. 

"  Some  of  these  new  kids  think  theyVe  so  all  fired 
smart,  coming  out  here  from  Massachusetts  with 
pin-toed  shoes,  but,  by  chicken-berry,  I'll  show  some 
of  'em.'*  *'  Chicken-berry  "  was  Sandy's  favourite 
oath  but  it  was  only  used  on  great  occasions.  He 
had  invented  it  himself  and  never  hoped  to  invent 
another  and  never  did. 

I  did  not  hear  any  more  just  then,  for  Professor 
Stilson  fell  asleep  In  his  chair  at  this  stage  and  started 
to  snore  so  loudly  right  alongside  me  that  I  could  not 
hear  anything  else.  I  had  not  heard  Cam  say  a 
word,  which  was  perfectly  natural,  as  natural  as  it 
was  to  hear  Sandy  talk,  for  Cam  always  saved  his 
words  and  when  he  did  speak  his  tones  were  mild  and 
calm  and  gentle.  But  don't  make  the  mistake  of 
supposing  that  his  speech  was  innocuous.  On  the 
contrary,  such  words  as  he  uttered  were  likely  to  be 
the  most  tantalising,  the  most  tormenting  and  devil- 
ish that  could  be  invented.     I  knew  just  how  he  was 


78  CAM  CLARKE 

looking;  not  a  trace  of  temper,  his  eyes  off  towards 
nowhere  and  his  remarks  as  caustic  as  lye.  This 
trait  he  also  kept  when  he  grew  up. 

After  a  few  minutes,  Professor  Stilson  got  his 
windpipe  into  a  straighter  line  and  quieted  down. 
Then  I  heard  little  Julie  Beauclerc's  voice  raised. 

"  Sandy  Rusher,'^  she  called  out,  "  you  are  a  great 
big  bully,  so  you  are,  and  I'd  pull  your  nose  myself 
for  a  rose-hip.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed,  so  you 
ought,  you  great  big  booby,  to  pick  on  a  new  boy.*'  I 
snickered  at  the  idea  of  Cam  being  bullied. 

Just  then  Professor  Stilson,  waking  with  a  jerk 
and  a  choking  gasp,  opened  his  eyes,  picked  up  an  old 
copy  of  the  Stage  Reporter,  which  had  fallen  from 
his  pocket,  and  putting  it  back  bawled  out  in  a  loud, 
reverberating  voice : 

"  Recess  is  over!  " 

I  was  glad  it  was  over  because  Fd  have  hated  to 
have  that  fight  pulled  off  with  me  in  the  corner  not 
able  to  see  a  thing.  In  fact,  I  just  could  not  have 
stood  it.  I  should  have  sneaked  out.  Besides,  it 
was  lonesome  standing  in  the  corner  of  an  empty 
room. 

At  noon,  after  I  got  out  of  the  corner,  I  went  down 
to  the  edge  of  the  creek  with  Cam  and  the  lunch 
basket,  as  he  said  he  had  enough  to  eat  for  two.  We 
crawled  under  a  high  bank  and  spread  the  stuff  out. 
That  was  a  good  lunch  and  we  were  having  a  fine 
time  eating  and  telling  how  we  should  like  to  kill 
Professor  Jim  Stilson  by  lashing  him  atop  of  a  red  ant 
hill  and  having  him  eaten  up  by  degrees  (which 
shows  that  we  all  have  savage  ancestors  and  that 
almost  any  of  us  could  plan  the  Inquisition  if  he  gave 


CAM  CLARKE  79 

it  his  undivided  attention)  when  Sandy  came  swag- 
gering down  as  if  by  accident  with  three  of  his  hold- 
ers on,  short,  swart  Sam  Taylor  amongst  them. 
Sandy  had  his  hat  pulled  over  one  eye  and  from  time 
to  time  he  contracted  the  muscles  of  his  arm  to  show 
how  strong  he  was.  I  suppose  his  biceps  at  that 
time  was  about  the  size  and  colour  of  an  oyster,  but 
think  how  little  the  biceps  of  John  L.  Sullivan  would 
look  if  you  stood  off  a  mile  to  examine  it.  It  really 
was  not  so  funny  as  you  might  think.  It  looked  big 
to  me.  When  he  got  in  front  of  Cam,  he  dragged 
one  toe  in  the  dust  and  said  belligerently, 

"  Mebbe  some  of  these  new  red-headed  kids  from 
Massachusetts  that  are  sporting  around  here  are  man 
enough  to  cross  that  line.  Mebbe  they  dare,  which 
I  don't  beheve." 

Cam  looked  at  the  line  and  at  Sandy  and  did  not 
get  the  least  bit  excited.  He  winked  at  me  cheer- 
fully, got  up,  calmly  wiped  some  of  the  jam  off  his 
chin,  then  walked  deliberately  over  and  crossed  the 
line  and  then,  to  make  a  thorough  job,  stooped  down 
and  spit  on  it,  which  was  the  most  comprehensive 
way  of  taking  a  dare  ever  introduced  into  the 
Palouse  Country.  Most  boys  could  not  have  con- 
ceived of  such  an  insolent  acceptance  nor  have  ex- 
ecuted it  so  promptly.  Like  Sandy,  they  would  have 
needed  to  talk  up  their  determination  to  the  sticking 
point. 

"  I  dare  you  to  do  it  again,"  said  Sandy,  fiercer 
than  ever,  his  ridiculous  biceps  all  contracted,  ready 
to  burst. 

Cam  did  It  again  and  I  began  to  be  worried  for 
fear  Sandy  would  not  fight  at  all  in  spite  of  his  being 


8o  ^AM  CLARKE 

twice  as  large  as  Cam,  who  did  not  seem  to  care 
whether  he  fought  or  did  not  fight  or  whether  he 
went  swimming,  which  we  had  talked  about  doing. 
Sandy's  gang  kept  urging  him  on,  however,  particu- 
larly Sam  Taylor,  and  finally  Sandy  put  a  chip  on  his 
shoulder  and  said  he  would  "  poke  the  snoot  "  of 
any  "  kid  "  that  touched  it  and  besides  "  butt  him 
In  the  belly  "  with  his  head,  and  he  told  how  hard 
his  head  was:  "  as  hard  as  a  diamond,"  he  said.  It 
was  hard  and  is,  but  he  does  not  boast  of  it  now, 
which  shows  that  it  was  not,  after  all,  perfectly  hard. 

Cam  sent  the  chip  spinning  and,  as  all  the  previous 
talk  had  really  made  Sandy  feel  brave,  he  hit  at  Cam. 
Sandy  was  quite  a.  fighter  when  he  had  inflated  his 
own  courage  by  talk  and  afterwards,  too,  if  he  had 
plenty  of  people  to  keep  cheering  him  on.  But  after 
the  cheering  dies,  his  courage  dies :  does  to  this  day. 
Cam  was  the  opposite  and  still  is. 

Sandy  was  intoxicated  with  his  own  bravery  when 
he  struck  at  Cam,  but  he  did  not  hit  him  even  then. 
Cam  was  somewhere  else  when  the  blow  arrived. 
And  then  Cam  became  a  streak  in  the  air,  he  went  at 
Sandy  like  a  wild  cat.  He  looked  as  though  he  had 
turned  to  fire  and  as  though  five  minutes  would  burn 
him  out.  Sandy  was  bewildered  but  he  was  the 
bigger  and  stronger  of  the  two  and  after  a  time  he 
got  his  weight  going.  And  he  fought  well,  too,  for 
the  cheering  had  not  stopped.  He  put  Cam  on  the 
ground  and  sat  on  him  and  pounded  him  and  pulled 
his  hair.  But  Cam  did  not  say  a  word,  he  just 
squirmed  and  kicked  and  kept  Sandy  busy.  I  knew 
he  was  all  right. 

"  Say  'nufJI  "  Sandy  kept  demanding  breathlessly 


CAM  CLARKE  8i 

and  hopefully.  Cam  did  not  say  anything.  He 
paid  no  attention  at  all  and  every  five  seconds  he 
would  squirm  and  nearly  throw  Sandy  off.  Sandy 
was  working  twice  as  hard  as  Cam.  It  went  on  that 
way  a  long  time.  We  had  never  seen  such  a  long 
fight  and  the  boys  yelled  and  screamed,  for  they 
thought  Cam  was  whipped.  I  knew  better :  I  had  ex- 
perienced nearly  the  same  things  from  Cam  myself. 
He  was  just  warming  up. 

When  the  fight  had  been  going  on  about  fifteen 
minutes,  little  Julie  Beauclerc  appeared  on  the  bank 
above  and,  when  she  saw  what  was  happening,  she 
got  angrier  than  any  girl  I  have  ever  seen.  She 
looked  fiery  all  over,  like  Cam  when  he  turned  loose. 
It  would  be  terrible  to  get  that  angry  on  a  hot  day,  I 
thought. 

*'  Sandy  Rusher,"  she  screamed,  "  you  great  big, 
over-grown,  small-nosed  bully !  Ain't  you  ashamed? 
Pick  on  somebody  your  own  size ;  leave  Cam  Clarke 
alone  I  '*  She  actually  started  down  to  take  part  In 
the  fight,  but  I  grabbed  her  and  pulled  her  away  and 
whispered  to  her  so  no  one  else  could  hear. 

"  Don't  you  be  afraid  none,  Julie,"  I  said;  "  why. 
Cam  Clarke  has  the  toughest  hair  you  ever  saw.  I 
know,  because  I  tried  pulling  it  myself  the  other  day 
and  I  tired  myself  out  pulling  at  it  and  I  didn't  make 
no  more  impression  than  a  rabbit.  It  never  feazed 
him  at  all.  You  just  wait.  The  first  thing  I  knew 
I  was  all  tired  out  and  Cam  just  got  up  and  pounded 
me  good  and  he'll  do  it  to  Sandy,  too.  Sandy  can't 
breathe  hardly  now,  he's  so  out  of  wind;  yes,  sir  I  " 

I  am  under  the  impression  that,  as  I  held  fast  to 
Julie   to   impart  this   comforting  information,   she 


82  CAM  CLARKE 

scratched  me  and  bit  me.  But  I  did  not  care  and 
Julie  seemed  really  to  absorb  the  information,  for 
she  omitted  to  descend  the  little  bank  and  partici- 
pate. Nevertheless,  she  continued  to  address  her 
torrent  of  vituperative  language  to  Sandy  and  it  wor- 
ried and  discouraged  him.  It  was  like  reducing  the 
volume  of  his  cheers. 

But  Sandy  kept  on  pulling  Cam's  hair  and  indus- 
triously pounding  his  back  until  a  peal  of  old  Jim's 
voice  announced  that  it  was  school  time.  Jim  was 
impatient  of  tardiness,  so  every  one  ran  into  the 
schoolhouse  except  Cam,  Sandy,  Julie  and  me. 
Sandy  would  have  run,  too,  but  he  was  afraid  to  run 
—  also,  when  his  gang  departed,  he  was  afraid  to 
stay.  As  for  Julie  and  me,  we  had  enlisted  for  the 
war.     We  would  see  the  finish  or  die. 

By  this  time  I  could  see  by  Sandy's  face  that  he  was 
growing  sicker  and  sicker  of  fighting,  just  as  he  al- 
ways does  when  the  cheering  falters.  Cam  saw  it, 
too,  and  he  told  me  afterwards  that  he  had  waited 
for  just  that  thing,  and  I  believe  it.  He  was  as 
cunning  as  he  was  resolute  and  he  could  be  patient 
when  no  other  quality  would  serve. 

Suddenly  Cam  gave  a  little  squirm  and  apparently 
without  much  effort  rolled  Sandy  off.  And  then  he 
went  after  Sandy  at  some  speed.  He  was  all  turned 
to  fire  again:  he  made  Sandy's  nose  bleed,  he  blacked 
his  eye,  and  he  hit  him  ten  places  with  strokes  that 
sounded  almost  like  the  clatter  of  an  electric  buzzer. 
Sandy  was  totally  bewildered  and  I  do  not  blame 
him.  He  lowered  his  head  and  bawling  like  a  calf 
ran  to  the  schoolhouse,  Cam  following  him,  kicking 
at  him  every  step.     Mr.  Skookum  Jones  and  Mr. 


CAM  CLARKE  83 

Bob  Dalton,  who  were  riding  by  on  their  cayuses, 
saw  the  procession,  a  small  boy  chasing  a  larger  one 
who  was  bellowing,  Julie  and  me  in  the  wake,  and 
they  laughed  until  I  thought  they  would  fall  from 
their  saddles.  Afterwards  I  heard  Mr.  Skookum 
Jones  remark,  as  he  chewed  the  stub  of  a  burned  out 
cigar,  *'  Gents,  I  tell  you  it  was  like  a  hornet  chasing 
a  hawk  —  which  is  a  sight  I  ain't  ever  seen  in  nature, 
but  I  have  seen  it  in  the  human  family.  Which 
shows  that  nothing  is  more  marvellous  than  anything 
else."  Sandy  was  so  frightened  that  he  ran  into  the 
school  house  and  up  to  the  teacher's  desk.  The 
pupils  all  laughed,  but  Professor  Jim  Stilson  did  not 
laugh.  He  never  laughed  at  anything,  so  far  as  I 
know.  But  he  gathered  us  all  together  when  we 
came  in  and  stood  us  in  a  row  on  the  rostrum.  Then 
he  let  Julie  go  sit  down  because  I  said  I  held  her 
and  made  her  late.  She  said  I  lied,  but  the  old  fel- 
low, like  every  one  else,  had  a  soft  place  for  her  and 
he  pretended  to  believe  me.  But  the  other  three  of 
us,  Sandy  and  Cam  and  me,  he  took  in  rotation  and 
thrashed.  Sandy  got  off  easy  because  he  bellowed 
so  loud.  Cam  got  a  hard  thrashing  because  he  would 
not  cry  at  all,  and,  for  the  same  reason,  I,  too,  re- 
ceived a  good  portion.  Then  Professor  Jim  gave  me 
something  separate  and  extra  because  he  said  I  was 
a  '*  hard  nut "  and  was  the  bottom  cause  of  it  all. 
That  was  a  good  guess  but  wrong.  Poor  little  Julie 
cried  on  account  of  Cam's  licking,  then  on  account  of 
mine  and  then  a  second  time  on  my  account.  Oh,  it 
was  a  good  afternoon's  crying  and  we  appreciated  it 
a  lot  and  told  her  so  after  school.  She  said  we  were 
welcome  and  that  she  thought  Cam  was  the  noblest 


84  CAM  CLARKE 

fellow  alive  and  that  I  was  next,  if  my  clothes  were 
ragged,  which  clothes  she  had  never  previously  liked. 
These  remarks  made  us  feel  splendid. 

After  we  had  talked  with  Julie  a  little  while,  wc 
ran  down  to  the  mud  hole  and  went  swimming  and  we 
killed  a  mud  turtle  which  was  lying  around  carelessly 
on  a  pole.  Then  on  the  way  home,  as  we  came 
around  by  the  side  of  Granite  Butte,  we  saw  a  little 
baby  coyote  at  the  door  of  his  den  and  as  his  mother 
was  not  around  we  followed  him  in  and  crawled  back 
to  the  tip  end  of  the  den,  which  smelled  awfully  bad, 
and  captured  him.  We  brought  him  home  to  Sarah 
Clarke.  She  nearly  died  laughing  and  she  kissed  us 
both,  but  she  said  the  young  coyote  did  not  smell  very 
good  although  he  was  cunning,  so  we  tied  him  in  the 
back  yard  to  a  young  quaking  asp  tree.  Next  morn- 
ing the  coyote  was  gone.  Sarah  Clarke  said  it  had 
chewed  the  rope  in  two.  I  should  have  believed  her, 
if  I  had  not  seen  a  piece  of  manila  jammed  in  the 
throat  of  her  scissors.  But  I  do  not  blame  her; 
coyotes  do  smell  bad  and  he  was  better  off  with  his 
mother  on  Granite  Butte. 

That  first  day  at  school  had  been  one  of  glory  for 
Cam  and  me.  I  remember  it  so  minutely  and  I 
describe  it  so  in  detail  because  it  was  his  fight 
with  Sandy  that  made  Cam  the  oracle  and  leader 
for  all  Washtucna  boys.  Occasionally  afterwards 
some  boy  rebelled  but  Cam  was  leader  as  long  as  he 
stayed  in  Washtucna.  And  it  was  an  important  day 
for  me.  It  was  the  one  in  which  I  decided  that  the 
pleasures  of  school  were  worth  the  pains.  Always 
afterwards  I  took  an  interest  in  being  educated  and 
while  I  could  I  attended  school  regularly.     But  that 


CAM  CLARKE  85 

was  not  long,  so  there  Is  considerable  misinformation 
which  I  have  never  received.  I  have  acquired  my 
education  principally  from  circumstances. 

I  remember  another  important  thing,  a  symptom 
of  the  times.  As  I  walked  home  with  Cam,  Doctor 
Punts  was  just  leaving  Mrs.  darkens  house.  He 
stopped  when  he  met  us  and  looked  at  us  a  long 
time,  sort  of  friendly  and  gently,  then  he  twisted  his 
long  beard  in  his  bony  hand  and  snarled,  but  just  the 
same  his  voice  sounded  pleasant. 

"  I  hope  you  boys,"  said  he,  *'  won't  be  any  rottener 
to  Mrs.  Clarke  than  is  absolutely  necessary  for  a  boy 
to  be,  an'  that's  bad  enough.  I  dunno  as  a  boy  rates 
havin'  as  good  a  ma  as  she  Is  —  and  if  I  can  do  any- 
thing you  make  her  tell  me.     Savvy  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Cam,  and  Punts  strode 
along,  head  down  and  buried  in  thought. 

When  we  got  to  the  house,  we  told  Sarah  Clarke 
what  Punts  had  said.  Her  mottled  eyes  grew  misty. 
**  People  are  kind,"  she  said  softly,  " —  and  some- 
times I  think  they  are  kinder  here  than  any  place. 
But  they  do  not  understand  entirely." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  month  of  June  was  lively  for  Washtucna. 
The  railroad  appeared  on  the  horizon  and 
all  hands  came  on  deck  to  see  it  arrive,  and, 
having  come  up,  they  stayed  up.  The  town  fell  into 
a  sort  of  fever.  The  grading  crews  started  early  in 
the  month  and  thenceforth  business  was  done  on  a 
rush  basis :  coming,  coming,  coming;  surveyors,  grad- 
ers, track-layers,  new  saloons,  gamblers,  new  earnest 
settlers,  gay-painted  women:  one,  two,  three.  The 
whole  Palouse  Country  was  filling  up  that  spring; 
men  came  like  an  army  of  ants  or  a  pest  of  locusts. 
Never  since  has  that  country  seen  such  a  fierce  out- 
burst, such  Sowings  forth  and  back,  such  frenzied 
digging  and  building. ,  I  know,  for  I  have  seen  all 
the  booms  since  the  beginning.  Latterly  we  have 
moved  more  slowly,  try  as  hard  as  we  would  to  move 
fast.  And  we  have  always  tried  hard,  for  we  are  all 
still  of  booster  habits  of  mind  and  we  like  to  swagger 
and  cheer  and  rush  on. 

Washtucna,  in  particular,  swelled  tremendously  in 
population.  Town  lots  were  staked  over  the  whole 
little  valley.  Old  Jimmy  Day  suddenly  fancied  him- 
self to  be  a  prince  or  an  Indian  nabob,  so  fast  did 
they  trade  him  money  for  the  plots  of  land  which  he 
laid  off  on  his  boggy  flat.  The  stages  came  in 
crowded,  emigrant  wagons  arrived  with  flapping 
wagon  sheets,  buckboards  and  pack  horses  and  men 

86 


CAM  CLARKE  87 

carrying  their  packs  on  their  backs  appeared.  They 
slept  in  sheds  and  shacks,  in  tents  and  under  the  white 
stars  of  God's  heavens.  They  were  here  and  there 
like  fleas:  they  started  all  descriptions  of  industry, 
placer-mining  and  oil-boring,  which  extravagantly 
failed;  truck-farming  and  saloon-keeping,  which  as 
extravagantly  succeeded ;  and  then  hotel-keeping  and 
wheat  raising  and  all  the  multifarious  activities 
whereby  men  feed  and  clothe  and  entertain  each 
other  and  grow  rich  and  die. 

Naturally,  the  activities  already  established  grew 
beyond  credibility.  Jan  Havland's  bar-room  was 
crowded  day  and  night,  the  feud  between  Saints  and 
Sinners  bubbled  like  boiling  water,  Tom  Harris's 
mare  even  foaled  twin  colts  and  my  father  had  so 
many  dusty  pairs  of  shoes  to  re-sole  or  mend  that  he 
hired  an  assistant  and  decreased  his  own  liquor  con- 
sumption. 

Among  the  new  enterprises  were  a  Chinese  laun- 
dry and  a  rival  saloon  to  Jan  Havland's.  But 
trouble  grew  faster  than  any  other  business  and  oc- 
cupied more  stalls  for  its  transactions.  People  ac- 
quired a  shocking  habit  of  punctuating  their  state- 
ments with  revolver  shots  and  others  indulged  freely 
in  fists  and  clubs  and  knives.  These  altercations 
were  not,  however,  without  their  advantages. 
Many  undesirable  citizens  got  themselves  killed  out- 
right, while  from  the  living  remainder  Doctor  Punts 
was  able  to  extract  an  income  from  the  tending  of 
wounds. 

Sarah  Clarke's  business  grew  as  rapidly  as  any 
one's.  There  was  sent  to  her  an  extraordinary  quan- 
tity of  men's  clothing  to  be  repaired,  and  the  quality 


88  CAM  CLARKE 

was  as  extraordinary  as  the  quantity.  Men  de- 
veloped an  uncontrollable,  incurable  habit  of  tearing 
clothes  that  had  never  been  worn  and  of  tearing 
clothes  over  and  over  again.  Mrs.  Clarke  used  to 
smile  at  first,  but  after  a  while  she  refused  the  more 
obviously  fraudulent  work  —  and  then  she  would 
privately  cry  over  it. 

Probably  it  was  Gunnysack  Charlie  who  reached 
the  height  of  ridiculousness  in  repairs  when  he 
brought  forth  a  brand  new  broadcloth  coat  with  a 
snag  in  the  tail  of  it.  Everybody  knew  that  Gunny- 
sack had  never  in  good  faith  owned,  much  less  worn, 
any  new  garment.  Even  Sarah  Clarke  knew  it  and 
when  she  refused  to  touch  it,  a  great  shout  of  laugh- 
ter went  up  from  Washtucna  —  a  laughter  tempered 
with  a  certain  fondness  and  gentleness  and  forbear- 
ance, even  with  tears. 

Thereupon  Gunnysack,  who  was  visiting  Mr. 
Skookum  Jones,  got  himself  feverishly  drunk  day 
after  day,  and  late  at  night  he  and  Skookum  Jones, 
who  would  have  his  battered  silk  hat  in  his  hand, 
might  be  seen  riding  crazy  races  towards  home  over 
the  bright,  star-lighted,  shining  hills.  Sarah  Clarke 
attributed  this  remarkable  defection  from  virtue  to 
the  disease  of  activity  which  had  swept  over  the  coun- 
try and  did  not  in  the  least  guess  the  trivial  cause 
of  it. 

Strangely  enough,  dry-boned,  dry-worded  old  Mr. 
Beauclerc  felt  the  fever  of  activity  also.  He 
preached  long  sermons  of  brotherly  love,  went  gun- 
ning for  Sinners  and  got  himself  accused  of  "  slick- 
earing"  thirty  head  of  Judge  Rusher's  cattle  on  the 
previous   round-up.     Finally,    as   president   of   the 


CAM  CLARKE  89 

"  Cattlemen's  Association,"  he  arranged  for  a  great 
bucking  match.  But  the  bucking  contest  broke  loose 
from  him  and  got  itself  held  on  Sunday  to  his  ever- 
lasting scandal  and  he  refused  to  attend. 

The  first  of  the  big  gang  of  railroad  men  to  arrive 
on  the  job  were  the  graders.  Some  were  Mormons, 
who  had  been  brought  from  Utah  to  the  Northwest 
for  this  work.  As  workers  they  were  unexcelled, 
except  by  Chinamen.  But  they  were  accompanied  by 
men  whose  habits  were  careless  and  violent  and  dis- 
quieting. All  day  long  they  worked  under  the  clank- 
ing steam  shovels  or  followed  the  great  wheel  scrap- 
ers, and  all  night  long  they  murdered  each  other  and 
gambled  and  drank  whisky.  You  can  not  procure 
such  disorders  from  any  races  of  men  but  north  Euro- 
peans, such  determined,  persistent,  long-indulged, 
deep-throated,  barbarous  hilarity. 

Presently  the  graders  were  gone,  leaving  the  track- 
layers to  console  us.  That  was  different.  They 
seemed  to  take  no  recess  from  work.  Cam  and  I 
used  to  watch  for  hours  the  bending  fires  that  never 
died  except  when  a  new  one,  farther  along,  was  bom. 
How  musical  I  thought  the  clang  of  a  dropping  rail  I 
And  the  skill  of  the  spike  drivers!  We  watched 
breathlessly  their  tireless,  never  ceasing  strokes.  I 
remember  one  night  on  which,  after  long  standing  by 
the  fires,  I  went  home  to  bed  and  heard  faintly 
through  my  slumber  a  chorus  of  coyote  voices  keep- 
ing accompaniment  to  the  clangorous  pounding  of  the 
bending  gang.  Even  In  my  sleep  It  affected  me  curi- 
ously, I  dimly  felt  that  It  was  outlandish,  it  was  some- 
what as  though  a  brontosaurus  had  gone  lumbering 
down  Broadway.     And  at  the  same  time  I  could  hear 


90  CAM  CLARKE 

the  dry  wind  whine  over  the  bunch  grass  and  I  felt 
depressed  —  or  dreamed  that  I  did. 

After  that  settlers  came  in  faster  than  ever,  a  hun- 
dred mules  and  horses  were  hauling  sand  and  lumber 
and  lime  and  the  sounds  of  building  continued  often 
far  into  the  night.  Busiest  of  all  was  William  Hoef- 
ner,  the  smith.  I  have  seen  him  late  at  night  still 
standing  by  his  forge  working  the  great  hand  bellows 
and  in  the  first  grey  of  dawn  I  have  wakened  to  see 
his  wife  and  him  swinging  their  sledges  valiantly  in 
the  heart  of  a  steam  cloud  which  arose  from  a  shrink- 
ing wagon  tire. 

Amidst  such  activity  and  such  sounds  of  activity 
blossomed  Washtucna's  first  boom.  What  Sarah 
Clarke  thought  or  felt  about  it  all  I  could  not  guess. 
She  used  to  look  at  it  wide  eyed ;  she  saw  all  of  it  or 
none  of  it,  I  could  not  say  which.  She  sewed  con- 
stantly at  her  pile  of  clothing  —  It  was  a  strange 
piece  of  mockery  that  she,  of  all  women,  should  live 
by  mending  purposely  torn  clothing  for  rough  fron- 
tiersmen, perhaps  even  for  renegades  and  horse 
thieves.  She,  I  suppose,  saw  the  irony  of  it,  but  she 
only  smiled  with  her  flickering  eyes  and  sewed  on. 
Sometimes,  dressed  all  in  black,  as  she  then  was,  with 
her  thin,  hollowed  face  and  her  large  luminous  eyes 
she  looked  like  a  priestess  or  a  prophetess,  and  she 
even  spoke  as  one.  "  The  Palouse  Country,  like 
the  seven  small  fishes,  shall  feed  a  multitude,"  she 
said  once.  And  this  has  proved  true.  There  is 
mile  on  mile  of  wheat  and  orchard  and  garden. 

Washtucna  seemed  to  whirl  and  eddy  around  this 
great,  calm  woman.     It  boomed  while  she  looked  at 


CAM  CLARKE  91 

the  horizon  of  Infinity;  yet  It  was  very  conscious  of 
her;  It  was,  In  fact,  to  the  last  man  in  love  with  her. 
Indeed,  In  these  days  Washtucna  commenced  to 
feel  concern  lest  Mrs.  Clarke  overwork  herself  and 
damage  her  health  or  spirits.  This  question  I  heard 
discussed,  If  not  with  rare  wisdom,  at  least  with  ex- 
traordinary interest,  in  Punts'  office  by  John  Brad- 
ford, Skookum  Jones,  Punts  and  Mr.  Bob  Dalton. 
Mr.  Dalton,  as  became  a  younger  man  with  small 
experience  amongst  the  ladles,  was  at  first  chary  of 
giving  opinions  or  even  of  suggesting  doubts.  It 
was  Mr.  Skookum  Jones  who  put  the  question  both 
fairly  and  firmly. 

"  What  Fd  like  to  know,  gents,"  said  he  solemnly, 
after  violently  blowing  his  red  nose  on  a  red  silk  hand- 
kerchief, "  is  which  course  is  proper  for  that  lady  to 
pursue.  I'm  in  large  doubts  that  she  ain't  makin'  a 
mistake  to  be  workin'  so  hard.  It  ain't  proper  and 
I'm  interested  enough  to  express  an  opinion  —  mebbe 
too  Interested,  as  it's  well  known  I  admire  the  lady  a 
heap." 

*'  Sorrow,"  said  Mr.  Bradford  steadily,  "  needs  to 
be  wiped  off  the  board;  and,  as  I  understand  it,  Mrs. 
Clarke  has  her  board  all  written  over  with  sorrow. 
Now  work  is  the  great  eraser  — " 

"Right,"  said  Punts  firmly,  "right!  Let  it  go 
for  a  while.  Sure,  John,  that's  right  I  By  God, 
give  the  little  woman  a  chance  to  do  her  own  swim- 
ming, it's  a  privilege  she'll  appreciate  better'n  most. 
And  when  she's  clear  of  things,  we'll  give  her  a  hand 
—  we  can  not  do  anything  now.  If  she  wants  work, 
give  it  to  her,  by  God,  gents  1  "     And  he  leered  like 


92  CAM  CLARKE 

Satan  but  his  eyes  were  like  Savonarola's.  I  say 
this  with  determination,  although  I  never  saw 
Savonarola's  eyes. 

Mr.  Skookum  Jones  admitted  himself  as  satisfied 
and  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  mildly  showed  his  approval  of 
the  conclusion  by  explaining  how  he  once  cured  the 
grief  of  a  pack  train  of  horses  when  a  mouse  mule, 
which  had  been  trained  to  lead  them,  was  killed  by 
a  cougar.  The  pack  train,  we  were  informed,  re- 
fused in  the  absence  of  said  mule  to  ford  the  Kaw 
River,  until  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  ingeniously  drew  the 
girths  extra  tight,  whereupon  they  forgot  other  trou- 
bles and  proceeded  happily  forward.  This,  he  as- 
sured his  fellow  deliberators,  was  a  similar  case  to 
Mrs.  Clarke's,  the  girths  being  the  work;  and  he 
was  surprised  and  grieved  at  Mr.  Skookum  Jones's 
refusal  to  receive  it  as  such.  Nevertheless,  Mr. 
Dalton's  approval  was  pleasing,  as  it  made  the 
opinion  unanimous.  Sarah  Clarke  continued  to 
work. 

As  for  Cam,  he  and  I  were  always  together  and  I 
found  him  always  surprising;  for  a  boy  can  be  as 
surprising  to  boys  as  a  man  to  men.  He  would  fall 
into  a  half  dozing,  half  thoughtful  condition  and 
wake  from  it  suddenly  with  the  most  startling  plans. 
And  the  strange  part  of  that  was  that  the  plans 
would  work.  He  could  invent  you  a  new  method  of 
fishing  while  you  waited.  And  he  was  likable,  in- 
finitely likable. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

I  ONCE  read  that  man  had  progressed  farther  in 
fifteen  minutes  since  he  began  to  make  accurate 
records  of  what  he  had  already  accomplished, 
than  previously  in  fifteen  years.  That  is  a  guess 
statement  by  a  man  who  has  thought  about  it  for  a 
few  minutes.  It  is  of  course  a  wrong  guess  but  it 
imparts  an  idea  he  had  in  mind.  If  he  guessed  even 
anywhere  near  right,  Washtucna  should  regard  that 
day  as  epochal  which  saw  established  its  first  public, 
open-to-the-world  record,  its  first  newspaper,  The 
fVashtucna  Breeze.  I  say  this  not  because  The 
Breeze  was  an  accurate  record  —  its  worst  enemies 
never  said  it  was  that  dull- — but  because  it  was  at 
least  a  record  of  some  sort. 

The  Breeze,  like  Minerva,  was  born  full-armed 
and,  more,  it  had  full  grown  teeth.  It  arrived  on  a 
flat  car  on  the  morning  of  the  eighth  of  July  and  It 
immediately  started  to  bite  with  Its  large,  sharp  teeth. 
Its  arrival  was  a  great  triumph  for  that  faction  of 
Washtucnans  known  as  the  Sinners.  But  the  tri- 
umph was  temporary,  for  the  Saints  shortly  after- 
wards started  The  Washtucna  Sun,  which  was  just 
as  Inaccurate  and  just  as  entertaining  as  The  Breeze. 

The  editors  of  these  rival  papers  spent  most  of 
that  summer  In  composing  editorials  threatening  each 
other  with  death,  imprisonment,  disgrace  and  assault 
and  battery.     Washtucna  consequently  was  seldom 

93 


94  i?AM  CLARKE 

thereafter  afflicted  with  a  dull  moment  and  these  two 
papers  were  universally  held  to  be  of  greatest  public 
utility.  For  what  is  more  highly  utilitarian  than 
amusement? 

It  was  red-faced  Judge  Rusher,  the  leader  of  the 
Sinners,  who  personally  succeeded  by  hocus-pocus 
and  good  management  in  launching  The  Breeze,  full 
blown  into  the  newspaper  world.  "  The  whole  shee- 
bang,"  said  the  Judge,  recounting  his  triumph,  "  the 
whole  of  it,  editor,  machinery,  printer's  devil  and 
two  dirty  roller  towels,  were  foaled  by  that  flat  car 
on  the  eighth  day  of  July,  plum  early  in  the  morn," 
and  he  smoked  his  corn  cob  pipe  reflectively  and 
tossed  off  a  glass  of  rye  whisky  mixed  with  hot  water 
and  lemon  juice. 

The  arrival  of  The  Breeze  was  to  most  people 
unexpected  almost  to  the  last  moment.  Its  ap- 
paratus on  the  above  mentioned  flat  car  was  hauled  in 
from  Spokane  at  the  tail  end  of  a  gravel  train. 
Judge  Rusher  of  course  knew  it  was  coming,  he  had 
found  that  out  by  paying  the  freight;  but  he  had  kept 
it  all  a  secret  until  the  evening  before  it  arrived.  In 
the  very  last  hours,  however,  he  had  hastily  gathered 
together  Sinners  from  everywhere  and  he  even  sent 
by  messenger  to  Colfax  for  a  brass  band  of  nine 
pieces,  "  to  harmonise  the  noises  of  jubilation." 

When  the  gravel  train  rolled  into  Washtucna,  the 
band  and  the  Sinners,  all  stimulated  by  pride  and 
excitement  and  some  by  rum  from  Jan  Havland's, 
were  there.  The  band  lay  back  In  the  seats  of  the 
buckboards  which  had  brought  them  from  Colfax 
and  blared  joyfully  while  the  Sinners  hurrahed  and 
cheered  and  fired  their  revolvers  with  such  reckless 


CAM  CLARKE  95 

enthusiasm  that  disinterested  spectators  of  judgment 
got  behind  buildings.  Amongst  these  spectators 
were  Sarah  Clarke  and  John  Bradford.  But  Cam 
and  I  had  no  judgment,  we  had  to  be  in  the  heart  of 
the  crowd.  So  we  ran  away  and  went  there.  Sarah 
Clarke  must  have  been  Interested  either  in  the  cele- 
bration or  in  John  Bradford,  for  she  did  not  miss  us 
at  once. 

The  train  was  no  sooner  stopped  than  Mr.  Tate 
Long,  the  consumptive  editor,  started  the  foot  press 
and,  before  the  car  could  be  switched  onto  a  siding. 
Cam  and  I,  acting  as  newsboys,  had  sold  the  first 
edition  of  The  JVashtucna  Breeze  at  a  dollar  apiece. 
At  that  price  Mr.  Long  would  doubtless  have  been 
glad  to  increase  the  number  of  copies,  but  he  ran  out 
of  paper  and  twenty-five  sheets  were  all  he  could  pro- 
duce. Our  commission  as  newsboys  was  the  munifi- 
cent sum  of  six  bits  each,  which  great  sum  probably 
made  Cam  Clarke,  afterwards  to  be  so  rich,  feel 
wealthier  than  ever  he  did  later  In  life. 

In  the  meantime,  such  Saints  as  had  been  dejected 
observers  of  these  hilarious  proceedings  from  around 
the  corners  of  buildings,  gathered  forlornly  down  In 
the  stock  yards.  And  sitting  on  the  top  rail  thereof 
they  condoled  with  each  other  and  guessed  at  the 
weights  of  steers.  Gradually  as  they  talked  their 
faces  lighted  up,  the  Idea  of  a  rival  paper.  The  JVash- 
tucna Sun,  was  born  and  the  idea  was  applauded. 

The  Sinners  also  adjourned  to  another  place,  but 
for  quite  different  reasons.  They  gathered  In  Jan 
Havland's  to  read  the  first  editorials,  and  for  rea- 
sons of  hospitality  they  brought  along  Mr.  Tate 
Long,  the  editor,  and  poured  as  much  liquor  into  him 


96  €AM  CLARKE 

as  he  would  take  —  and  Mr.  Long  would  take  all  he 
could.  Mr.  Long  was  a  hero :  he  stayed  by  the  bar 
until  his  slightly  ailing  stomach  gave  out  and  then  he 
gave  out,  too,  and  lay  down  under  the  pool  table  and 
fell  asleep.  His  hosts  picked  him  up  and  carried 
him  gently  to  the  Tennessee  Hotel,  where  they  put 
him  to  bed  in  the  bridal  chamber,  and  then  them- 
selves returned  to  the  editorials  and  to  further  cele- 
bration. 

The  principal  interests  of  The  Breeze  were  un- 
doubtedly editorial,  since  there  was  nothing  in  the 
first  edition  but  an  editorial  and  the  advertisements 
of  three  patent  medicines.  The  paper  was  the  au- 
thentic mouth  piece  of  the  Sinners.  What  The 
Breeze  said  was  what  Sinners  would  think,  no  matter 
what  it  happened  to  say.  Judge  Rusher,  indeed,  was 
believed  to  write  the  editorials  himself  and  I  think 
he  did  so  when  he  felt  energetia  The  Breeze, 
hence,  was  infallible  when  the  Judge  felt  well.  At 
other  times  Mr.  Long  did  his  best.  The  first  edition 
was  plainly  from  the  Judge's  pen :  not  only  was  it  in 
his  style,  but  Cam  and  I  from  our  points  of  observa- 
tion just  outside  the  back  door  saw  him  modestly 
withdraw  to  the  front  sidewalk  when  Mr.  Pete 
Barker  commenced  reading  aloud.  I  write  below 
what  he  read,  for,  as  I  once  lived  for  some  months 
of  winter  in  a  shack  partially  papered  with  one  of 
the  immortal  twenty-five  first  copies  of  The  Breeze, 
I  am  able  to  write  the  whole  composition  from  mem- 
ory. I  might  have  memorised  *'  Hamlet "  instead, 
but  at  that  time  my  tastes  did  not  lie  that  way. 

"  Citizens  of  Washtucna,"  the  voice  read,  '*  your 
Breeze  herewith  blows  its  first  blast.     The  Breeze 


CAM  CLARKE  97 

does  believe  and  will  believe  in  your  future.  It  de- 
sires to  be  of  you  and  with  you  and  it  is  determined 
to  serve  you.  Without  a  doubt  Washtucna  will  be  a 
great  city.  The  Breeze  wishes  to  be  a  worthy  in- 
habitant of  such  a  city.  Washtucna  has  a  great 
work  to  do ;  The  Breeze  will  help  it.  If  Washtucna 
falters  The  Breeze  will  support  it;  if  it  deviate  from 
the  path  of  virtue,  The  Breeze  will  chastise  it. 
Washtucna  must  also  doubtless  become  wealthy,  but 
The  Breeze  cares  less  for  wealth  than  for  the  privi- 
lege of  keeping  unsullied  your  now  unsullied  name. 

"  We  need  not  point  out  that  neither  money  nor 
personal  influence  ever  shall  corrupt  The  Breeze. 
We  shall  keep  ourselves  as  immaculate  as  we  shall 
strive  to  keep  Washtucna. 

''  The  Breeze  will  not  be  an  idle  talker  of  words. 
It  knows  you  and  itself.  It  already  has  grasped 
firmly  your  local  conditions.  It  knows  what  indig- 
nity your  noblest  citizens  have  suffered  from  the 
craven  hands  of  its  worst.  The  Breeze  as  it  con- 
templates the  condition  chokes  with  indignation  — 
but  it  will  be  moderate.  It  will  not  call  in  abuse  to 
punish  those  hypocritical,  lying,  thieving,  cowardly 
sons  of  ill  bred  female  dogs  who,  banded  together 
under  the  ironical  title  of  '  Saints,'  would  by  their 
vile  machinations  poison  the  life  blood  of  the  body 
politic.  The  Breeze ^  we  say,  will  not  abuse  them; 
they  are  beneath  notice. 

"  The  Breeze  need  hardly  explain  after  the  mild- 
ness of  the  foregoing  remarks  concerning  the  criminal 
organization  of  Saints  that  it  is  without  rancour.  It 
is  more  than  fair  with  them.  Nevertheless,  it  is  so 
disgusted  with  their  putrid  rottenness,  by  their  loath- 


98  CAM  CLARKE 

some  appearances  and  by  their  vile  habits  that  it  can 
conceive  of  but  one  proper  method  of  disposing  of 
them,  which  is  to  shove  them  into  some  bottomless 
hole  with  long  poles,  the  poles  for  sanitary  reasons 
to  be  cast  after  them. 

''  The  Breeze  dislikes  to  gratify  this  scum  by  so 
much  mention  and  it  dislikes  a  scavenger's  work. 
But  it  will,  nevertheless,  pursue  these  outlaws  until 
the  sword  of  justice  disperse  them. 

"  Readers  of  The  Breeze^  we  come  into  your  midst 
at  an  important  time.  An  artery  of  commerce,  to  be 
literal,  a  railroad,  has  just  commenced  pumping  the 
red  blood  of  enterprise  into  your  veins.  They  will 
swell  up.  We  believe  they  will  swell  up  until  they 
carry  a  tide  like  Mississippi  or  Clyde.  Honest 
Washtucnans,  gather  around  us;  dishonest  ones, 
avaunt !  Let  us  look  the  world  square  in  the  face ; 
let  us  cast  out  the  vipers  who  lie  warming  themselves 
at  our  breasts.  Judge  Rusher  and  friends,  we  salute 
you!" 

The  Sinners  had  never  seen  any  literary  composi- 
tion so  much  to  their  taste.  They  were  delirious 
with  delight  by  the  time  Mr.  Pete  Barker  had  finally 
stopped  reading  and  had  buried  his  moustache  in  the 
foam  of  a  glass  of  beer.  They  took  the  papers  home 
and  read  them  over  and  over  and  for  a  week  they 
continued  to  treat  Mr.  Tate  Long  with  such  dis- 
tinguished hospitality  that  his  next  weekly  issue  was 
a  day  late  in  getting  out.  I  should  not  omit  to  men- 
tion that  during  this  period  Mr.  Long  was  playfully 
shot  at  by  a  drunken  Saint,  leaving  town  for  the 
scene  of  his  pastoral  labours.  The  Sinners  resented 
this  bitterly.     Wrecking  the  printing  press  would  not 


CAM  CLARKE  99 

have  been  a  more  serious  offence  and  they  asked 
plaintively  where  was  the  freedom  of  the  press  if  such 
acts  of  intimidation  did  not  cease.  But  the  Saint 
went  unreproved  by  dint  of  departing  suddenly  for 
Canada. 

The  Saints,  as  we  have  seen,  had  at  first  felt  dis- 
couraged when  The  Breeze  came  on  the  job.  This 
feeling  was  changed  to  temporary  enthusiasm  by  the 
meeting  in  the  stock  yards.  Then,  as  the  negotia- 
tions for  the  estabhshing  of  The  Sun  went  forward, 
they  became  firmly  hopeful  and  finally  reHgiously 
jubilant.  At  first  in  their  desperation  I  have  heard 
that  they  talked  seriously  of  lynching  Mr.  Tate  Long, 
but  this  plan  was  not  adopted.  "  We  will  let  nature 
take  its  course,"  said  some  one  of  them,  referring,  no 
doubt,  to  Mr.  Long's  delicate  lungs  and  his  careless 
habits  of  life.  But  life  is  full  of  disappointments: 
Mr.  Long  remains  alive  to  this  day.  He  still  coughs 
unconscionably,  but  so  has  he  for  thirty  years,  and 
I  suspect  that  he  may  do  so  for  yet  another  thirty 
years. 

It  was  Mr.  Beauclerc,  of  course,  who  finally  and 
definitely,  so  to  speak,  threw  his  lasso  over  the  print- 
ing press  of  the  rival  paper  and  dragged  it  down  to 
Washtucna.  He  kept  the  galvanised  telephone  wire 
to  Spokane  hot  with  messages  for  a  week  and  finally 
on  the  morning  of  the  seventeenth  of  July  he  received 
a  certain  telegram  which  he  sent  around  amongst  his 
cohorts  by  courier  and  then  he  and  Bob  Dalton  drove 
to  Rosaha  by  buckboard.  The  purport  of  the  mes- 
sage spread  everywhere  and  the  scene  that  followed 
was  Uke  a  gathering  of  Highland  clans  or  like  the 
turning  out  of  minute  men.     Noon  was  the  hour  of 


loo  GAM  CLARKE 

the  rendezvous  and  they  came  as  at  the  call  of  fife 
and  drum. 

"  There  ain't  nothin'  secrit  about  it,"  said  Mr. 
Tom  Roberts,  lighting  a  long  black  cigar.  "  This 
here  Sun  ain't  goin'  to  sneak  into  town  like  The 
Breeze  did;  she  comes  in  at  high  noon  like  a  bride." 
Mr.  Tom  Roberts,  I  should  explain,  was  an  ambi- 
tious, loose  jointed  young  man  who  wore  "  shaps." 
The  Sinners  firmly  believed  him  to  be  a  cattle-thief 
and  said  he  was  a  natural  black  leg.  But  they  would 
have  said  the  same  whether  he  was  one  or  not. 

Of  course  Cam  and  I  came  to  the  rendezvous  down 
by  the  depot.  We  always  came  to  everything.  And 
every  Saint  in  the  country  was  there  except  the  arch- 
Saints  Beauclerc  and  Dalton.  Amongst  them  was 
Mr.  V.  Y.  Trillums,  a  quiet,  grizzled  little  man  with 
three  fingers  missing  from  his  right  hand.  Although 
Mr.  Trillums  was  as  firm  a  Saint  as  he  was  a  Republi- 
can, which  is  to  exhaust  comparison,  he  never  came  to 
their  unimportant  meetings.  This,  then,  must  have 
been  an  important  meeting  or  Trillums  would  not 
have  been  there.  Mr.  Trillums  was  considered  a 
great  man  in  Washtucna,  for  in  his  bare  little  house 
by  Dry  Creek  on  the  burned  sides  of  Lemon  Butte  he 
was  known  to  have  in  a  battered  hair  trunk  a  letter 
signed  by  Abraham  Lincoln.  This  letter  certified 
that  he  had  disregarded  his  own  safety  in  order  to 
look  out  for  another  person's  life,  and  that  while  en- 
gaged in  this  class  of  work  he  had  killed  three  or 
twenty-three  or  some  such  number  of  the  enemy  and 
had  himself  lost  three  fingers.  That  a  man  could  do 
such  things  and  not  tell  of  them  often  afterwards  was 
a  fact  pleasing  to  Washtucna.     So  Mr.  Trillums  was 


CAM  CLARKE  loi 

respected  and  lionised  by  both  Sinners  and  Saints. 
At  the  depot  now  he  was  surrounded  by  fifty  fellow 
Saints. 

The  disinterested  spectators  were  the  neutrals  and 
the  Sinners.  The  Sinners  took  their  view  at  a  dis- 
tance. The  neutrals,  numbering  five,  gathered 
around  Mrs.  Sarah  Clarke,  who,  with  Mr.  John 
Bradford,  occupied  Mr.  Billy  Carroll's  new  buck- 
board.  The  five  were  Bradford,  "  Doc "  Punts, 
Skookum  Jones,  Tom  Warren  and  Mr.  Gunnysack 
Charlie  Williams.  These  five  were  distinguished  by 
being  neutrals,  by  being  each  and  all  bachelors  and 
also  by  being  individually  and  collectively  in  love 
with  Mrs.  Sarah  Clarke,  so  much  in  love  that  they 
would  have  admired  the  meanest  act  she  ever  did. 

The  crowd  at  the  rendezvous  were  hilarious  but 
impatient,  and,  to  while  the  tedium  of  waiting,  they 
frequently  crossed  over  to  Jan  Havland's,  where- 
from  they  returned  more  hilarious  yet  and  less  pa- 
tient. 

At  exactly  noon,  with  a  roar  and  a  whistle,  a  spe- 
cial engine  drew  up  with  a  palace  freight  car  in  tow. 
Mr.  Beauclerc  and  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  were  discovered 
sitting  on  the  cowcatcher  with  express-messenger  shot 
guns  in  the  bend  of  their  arms,  as  though  they  were 
guarding  treasure.  This  sight  elicited  immense  en- 
thusiasm. The  Saints  liked  the  sight  and,  besides,  it 
was  Saints'  day  to  cry  and  shoot  and  cheer,  which 
acts  they  performed  forthwith,  sad  faced  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc making  deprecatory  gestures  the  while,  but  en- 
joying it  all  immensely  and,  in  spite  of  many  years' 
repression,  looking  actually  happy. 

The  Sun,  Washtucna's  second  newspaper  child, 


I02  GAM  CLARKE 

was  a  healthy  and  vigorous  brat  Its  parents  made 
it  a  point  that  it  should  exceed  The  Breeze  on  all 
scores.  They  cheered  louder ;  they  had  the  first  edi- 
tion ready  to  distribute  even  before  the  train  arrived. 
Also  they  exceeded  it  in  an  unexpected  way  by  giving 
away  the  whole  first  edition.  "  No  robbing  methods 
for  The  Sun;  we  give  things  away,"  cried  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc,  and  he  suited  deeds  to  the  words.  The  first 
copies  went  broad-cast  while  nine  men  and  a  Califor- 
nia wagon  moved  the  whole  equipment  into  Billy 
Carroll's  livery  stable  for  temporary  headquarters, 
and  the  rest  took  the  new  editor  into  Jan  Havland's, 
where  the  noise  of  hilarity  became  disturbing  to  quiet 
people,  if  there  were  any.  If  the  editor  of  The  Sun 
could  not  claim  to  have  been  drunker  than  The 
Breeze  editor,  he  at  least  drank  more  and  talked 
more  loudly. 

Cam  and  I  did  not  miss  any  part  of  anything,  which 
is  saying  a  good  deal.  We  got  a  paper  and  started 
several  times  to  read  editorials,  but  diversions  would 
be  started.  Once  Mr.  Bob  Dalton,  who  had  accu- 
mulated some  liquor  himself,  shot  out  in  succession 
the  windows  of  the  new  depot,  while  the  telegraph 
operator  crawled  under  his  table  and  tried  to  escape 
by  the  cracks  in  the  floor.  As  he  was  fat  he  did  not 
succeed,  but  he  looked  very  funny.  This  perform- 
ance of  Mr.  Dalton's,  everybody,  even  Sinners, 
agreed  was  a  very  spirited  one  and  original,  and  it 
was  to  some  extent  copied  by  other  celebrators  later 
in  the  summer.  Mr.  V.  Y.  Trillums,  however,  dur- 
ing his  incumbency  as  marshal,  discouraged  the  habit 
by  shooting  in  the  groin  a  man  who  was  engaged  in 
this  laudable  pastime  —  but  that  was  long  afterwards 


CAM  CLARKE  iP3 

and  Cam  and  I  did  not  even  see  it.  People  by  that 
time  were  trying  to  become  more  orderly.  On  this 
day  Mr.  Dalton  received  no  blame  whatever. 

Presently  other  exhilarated  Saints,  seven  in  num- 
ber, lassoed  the  new  Chinese  laundryman  and  simul- 
taneously and  playfully  almost  pulled  him  in  seven 
pieces.  There  was  some  criticism  of  this  perform- 
ance on  the  grounds  of  humanity,  but  as  soon  as  the 
fact  was  presented  that  "  Chinese  air  of  a  low  narv- 
ous  org'nisation,'*  it  was  at  once  recognised  that  the 
Chinaman  had  not  suffered  at  all.  And  as  the  per- 
formance had  been  highly  amusing,  all  criticism  of  it 
was  very  properly  dropped.  The  Chinaman  vindi- 
cated this  view  by  omitting  to  die  of  his  injuries. 
Cam  and  I,  however,  claimed  credit  for  that,  for  we 
borrowed  some  horse  liniment  for  him  from  Billy 
Carroll  —  without  mentioning  it  to  Mr.  Carroll,  I 
regret  to  say,  until  nine  years  afterwards,  in  Spokane, 
when  I  paid  for  it  with  interest,  as  Mr.  Billy  Carroll 
was  then  suffering  from  extreme  poverty  and  wanted 
a  loan  to  get  supper  and  bed  and  a  breakfast.  On 
that  occasion  I  paid  him  the  price  of  several  bottles  of 
liniment,  which  was  proper  and  right. 

Other  interesting  things  happened,  but  finally  Cam 
and  Mr.  Gunnysack  Charlie  and  I,  who  were  neither 
Saints  nor  Sinners,  adjourned  to  the  flat  plank  on  top 
of  the  stock  yard  fence  and  read  The  Sun's  first  edi- 
torial, Mr.  Gunnysack  elaborating  and  explaining 
things. 

"  The  Washtucna  Sun/'  said  the  editorial,  "  pro- 
poses to  furnish  the  moral  and  intellectual  light  for 
this  town.     The  gentlemen  of  this  community  who 


104  GAM  CLARKE 

have  almost  universally  been  smothered  and  disgusted 
by  the  putrescent  darkness  exhaled  by  that  insolent 
publication,  the  so-called  '  Breeze  '  of  Washtucna, 
will,  we  feel  confident,  welcome  a  decent  and  fearless 
news  sheet  —  which  The  Washtucna  Sun  is  and 
will  be. 

''  The  Sun  is  independent  and  unbiased,  yet  it  is 
not  unaware  that  a  certain  leader  of  the  criminal  ele- 
ment of  this  community,  whom  we  shall  call  Judge 
R ■■  (we  forbear  from  moderation  and  on  ac- 
count of  his  unfortunate  children  to  mention  the  name 
of  the  round-bellied,  whisky-soak  to  whom  we  re- 
fer), has  attempted  by  fraud  and  deceit  to  prejudice 
the  mind  of  this  community  against  its  most  reliable 
citizens.  And  The  Sun  so  loathes  injustice  and  mis- 
representation that  it  has  now  an  actual  prejudice 

against  not  only  Judge  R but  also  against  the 

worm-backed  editor  of  The  Breeze  who  permits  him- 
self to  be  used  as  a  vile  tool  of  Judge  R .     But 

The  Sun  deprecates  violence.  It  hopes  no  one  will 
shoot  this  contemptible  man  or  no  indignant  com- 
munity hang  him.  Like  ditch  water  and  poisonous 
snakes,  he  was  created  for  God's  purposes.  He  will 
perish  in  the  sunlight  of  truth. 

"  The  Sun,  we  have  said,  will  be  independent;  it 
will  also  be  idealistic.  It  will  not  desire  to  take  part 
in  partizan  feuds.  But  when  the  honour  of  the  com- 
munity is  at  stake  it  can  never  remain  silent.  For 
this  reason  the  next  issue  and  every  one  thereafter 
will  be  filled  with  spiritual  and  moral  carbolic  acid 
and  vitriol  until  the  last  atom  of  the  corruption  of 
this  town  shall  be  burned  out  in  the  bottomless  caul- 
dron of  our  disinterested  contempt. 


CAM  CLARKE 


105 


"  Judge  R ,  we  warn  you,  beware  I  Your  cat- 
tle brand  is  on  The  Breeze.  Let  it  and  you  seek  new 
pastures  while  yet  ye  may,  or  stand  such  consequences 
as  the  awakened  wrath  of  this  community  may  pro- 
duce. 

''  The  Washtucna  Sun  will  shine  for  Washington 
now  and  forever." 

That  was  all  there  was  to  the  editorial.  Gunny- 
sack  let  it  melt  in  his  mouth  for  five  minutes  of 
silence  and  then  said  it  was  splendid,  as  good  as  The 
Breeze;  all  nonsense,  but  just  suited  to  Washtucna. 

Of  course  any  one  can  see  that  a  community  stimu- 
lated successively  with  two  such  doses  of  acid  wrath 
would  squirm  with  life  like  an  eel.  Washtucna  did. 
It  built  six  new  houses  a  day,  tents  came  out  of  the 
ground  over  night  and  speculation,  gambling,  church- 
building,  drunkenness  and  hard  work  spread  like 
measles  in  a  logging  camp.  Everybody  did  some- 
thing. 

Cam  and  I  enjoyed  every  minute  of  those  days  and 
so  did  Sarah  Clarke  in  her  own  way.  Nevertheless, 
she  grew  very  frail  and  her  great  mottled  gray  eyes 
looked  out  on  the  world  with  the  saddest  expression 
imaginable.  But  Washtucna  was  always  solidly  be- 
hind Sarah  Clarke,  no  matter  where  else  divided. 
Saints  and  Sinners,  men  and  women,  all  plied  her 
with  respectful  kindness.  And  as  she  constantly  de- 
sired to  be  at  work,  they  pressed,  as  we  have  seen, 
the  strangest  assortment  of  mending  upon  her  that 
any  one  ever  saw,  mostly  brand  new  clothing  torn  by 
design.  She,  seeing  this,  rebelled  time  and  again, 
but  they  persisted.     So  one  day  she  made  a  strange, 


io6  GAM  CLARKE 

wry,  yet  half  laughing  face  and  said,  "  No  matter,  it 
is  charity  anyway;  "  and  she  accepted  everything  but 
afterwards  cried  a  little.  Cam  and  I  told  her  to 
brace  up,  which  she  did.  Why  she  never  taught 
school  I  did  not  know,  but  she  gave  over  all  thought 
of  it  apparently  when  mending  came  plentifully. 

When  Cam  and  I  came  home  late  in  the  afternoon 
of  the  birthday  of  The  Washtucna  Sun,  John  Brad- 
ford was  talking  to  Sarah  Clarke  on  her  little 
veranda,  while  she  sewed.  He  was  talking  slowly 
and  puffing  a  short,  heavy-set  pipe. 

"  I  shot  the  fellow  dead,"  I  heard  him  say  very 
quietly,  while  Sarah  Clarke  paused,  her  arm  ex- 
tended, her  mottled  eyes  on  his  face.  Then  she 
reached  over  and  patted  his  arm  just  once,  while  he 
looked  away  at  the  sunburned  hills,  and  then  we 
arrived  with  a  clamour  about  swimming.  John 
Bradford  went  swimming  with  us  and  taught  us  the 
"  swallow  dive." 


CHAPTER  IX 

WASHTUCNA,  I  confess,  had  weaknesses. 
In  those  days  one  of  these  was  a  cankering 
desire  to  be  in  fashion,  another  was  an  in- 
ability to  sit  still.  Now  she  is  different:  she  cares 
nothing  for  fashion  and  she  is  never  very  active ;  nay, 
to  a  casual  observer  she  now  seems  sound  asleep. 

It  was  Washtucna's  amiable  weakness  for  fashion 
that  led  her  inhabitants  on  the  great  camping 
hegira ;  or  drove  them,  which  is  another  way  of  say- 
ing the  same  thing.  When  the  sweat  of  the  labour 
of  starting  two  newspapers  had  been  wiped  off  the 
municipal  brow,  the  restless  civic  eye  of  the  place 
began  to  cast  around  for  new  enterprises  and  inter- 
ests: water  works  and  sewers  got  themselves  talked 
about,  those  first  necessities,  saloons  and  restaurants, 
being  amply  provided.  But  presently  Washtucna's 
attention  was  temporarily  distracted  from  these  utili- 
tarian ends.  A  yellow  haired  Portland  tea  drummer 
came  to  town  for  a  day,  and  passed  around  the  word 
that  the  fashionable  thing  in  New  York  was  now  to 
go  camping  —  it  made  no  difference  where,  just  to  go 
camping.  He  had  recently  been  to  New  York  and 
he  said  he  knew,  and,  knowing,  he  wondered  why 
Washtucna,  which  had  such  beautiful  places  to  go  to, 
permitted  them  all  to  remain  unused.  "  What  would 
not  New  York  give  for  such  opportunities  ?  "  he 
asked,  and  he  explained  just  what  Jay  Gould  would 

107 


io8'  CAM  CLARKE 

do  If  he  lived  In  Washtucna.  Washtucna  fell  to  the 
battery  of  the  tea  drummer^s  logic. 

There  seems  to  have  been  no  good  reason  In  her 
own  mind  why  she  should  go  camping,  but  what 
would  Jay  Gould  think  if  she  did  not?  That  last 
argument  swamped  her.  She  decided  almost  unani- 
mously to  go,  that  she  must  go,  that  she  had  no 
choice.  It  made  no  difference  that  Washtucna 
people  had  mostly  been  camping  as  a  business  for  a 
great  part  of  their  lives.  Their  future  should  not  be 
prejudiced  by  the  past.  Nor  would  they  give  regard 
to  the  fact  that  their  respective  methods  of  life  when 
at  home  in  Washtucna  would  have  been  considered 
camping  of  the  roughest  sort  by  the  New  York  men 
who  were  said  to  have  started  the  vogue.  Wash- 
tucna, in  short,  was  as  much  a  slave  to  fashion  as  a 
young  girl  and  as  determined  as  a  man's  wife.  The 
various  Washtucnans  decided  that  they  would  go 
camping  if  they  had  to  crawl  forth  to  do  It. 

Of  course  camping  was  undertaken  on  partlzan 
lines.  Everything  always  was  in  Washtucna.  And, 
of  course,  the  question  Immediately  arose  whether 
more  of  Sinners  could  go  than  of  Saints.  Each  party 
boasted  beforehand  and  lied  afterhand,  so  I  never 
knew  which  won.  Nobody,  indeed,  knew  or  wanted 
to  know;  a  definite  statement  In  the  premises  would 
have  wofully  cut  down  possible  conversation.  How 
I  abhor  men  who  stop  arguments  by  Introducing  Ir- 
refutable and  decisive  evidence!  They  should  be 
gagged  and  flogged.  Fortunately,  there  are  but  few 
of  these  miscreants  alive. 

I  may  truthfully  say  that  altogether  half  the  people 
of  Washtucna  went  forth  to  the  various  rivers,  lakes 


CAM  CLARKE  109 

and  hills.  Every  four  horse  team  and  six  horse 
wagon  and  every  buckboard  In  that  region  was  requi- 
sitioned. Even  my  father  went,  but  I  did  not  go 
with  him  and  my  family.  Sarah  Clarke  and  Cam 
and  I  went  with  the  Rushers,  and  my  father  had  only 
ten  children  left  to  take  with  him.  I  wonder  if  it 
seemed  lonesome  to  him.  He  went  with  an  ox  team 
and  it  must  have  been  very  hard  work,  but  he  was  a 
public-spirited  man  and  when  he  came  back  he  said 
he  had  enjoyed  himself  vastly. 

Of  course,  there  had  been  competition  in  the  mat- 
ter of  who  should  carry  off  the  Clarkes.  Indeed, 
that  was  an  important  point.  Judge  Rusher  won 
for  the  Sinners  by  the  simple  expedient  of  asking  Mrs. 
Clarke  before  other  people  did.  This  was  a  stroke 
of  genius  and  he  felt  so  good  about  it  that  he  asked 
me  to  come,  too,  to  entertain  Cam  and  Sandy  so  they 
would  not  bother  him  too  much.  It  was  considered 
by  conservative  people  that  the  judge  was  doing  a 
dangerous  thing  In  taking  us  three  boys  in  one  party, 
for  three  boys'  minds  can  think  of  a  great  variety  of 
devilment.  But  Judge  Rusher  did  not  worry  much. 
A  fat  man  can  try  anything.  He  said,  *'  Come  on, 
Mart!  "  and  I  came.  He  was  pretty  safe,  for  his 
nerves  were  armoured  in  rhinoceros  hide.  One 
night  he  took  off  the  armour  —  but  that  was  later. 

Cam  and  Sandy  and  I  were  by  that  time  very  good 
friends  when  we  were  not  fighting.  In  the  few  days 
before  we  left  for  the  St.  Mary's  we  worked  in  uni- 
son and  harmony  and  gathered  together  a  lot  of 
camping  gear  that  looked  Invaluable  to  us.  We  kept 
this  gear  hidden  In  a  gunnysack  which  was  stowed  in 
the  Rushers'  hay  mow.     It  consisted  of  samples  of 


no  XAM  CLARKE 

smoking  and  chewing  tobacco,  an  old  army  revolver 
of  ancient  vintage  presented  us  by  Mr.  George  Arm- 
bend  after  we  caught  his  cayuse,  which  had  thrown 
him  and  then  had  run  away  from  him.  I  desire, 
however,  to  say  for  Armbend,  who  is  now  deceased 
on  account  of  freezing  received  in  the  Xanana  Val- 
ley, that  he  was  not  sober  at  the  time  he  made  us  this 
handsome  present.  Besides  these,  there  were  in  the 
bag  some  corn  cob  pipes  and  nine  five-cent  novels, 
which  were  given  us  by  the  first  tramp  that  was  ever 
known  to  have  entered  the  Palouse  Country.  Thus, 
you  see,  we  were  not  entirely  destitute  of  the  com- 
moner luxuries  of  boyhood.  And  wc  valued  them 
as  gold. 

Of  course,  the  Beauclercs  had  decided  to  go  camp- 
ing, and  Mr.  Beauclerc,  amongst  others,  had  invited 
the  Clarkes  to  go  with  him.  But  there  was  only  one 
of  Mrs.  Clarke;  she  could  not  go  with  everybody. 
Their  party,  hence,  consisted  only  of  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Beauclerc,  Julie  and  ten  or  twelve  poor  relations 
from  Colfax,  and  they  lamented  its  dull  loneliness. 

Our  party  and  the  Beauclercs*  took  the  road  the 
same  day  and  for  the  same  country,  the  St.  Mary's, 
sixty  miles  or  so  northeast.  But  we  were  on  the 
road  at  half  past  three  and  they  did  not  start  until 
four. 

We  came  through  Washtucna  just  before  four, 
but  we  were  not  earlier  than  true  love.  Mr. 
Skookum  Jones  galloped  up  alongside  us  on  his  pinto 
cayuse  and  removed  his  threadbare  and  faded  silk 
hat  several  times  and  with  great  vigour  towards  Mrs. 
Clarke;  and  Punts  and  John  Bradford  stood  ankle 
deep  in  the  dust  and  with  ferocious  playfulness  bade 


CAM  CLARKE  iii 

us  stand  and  deliver,  while  they  threatened  us  with 
imaginary  shot  guns.  At  this  Mr.  Skookum  Jones 
circled  around  the  wagon  emitting  from  his  shrivelled 
and  time  battered  body  certain  blood  curdling  yells, 
which,  he  afterwards  informed  us,  were  in  exact  imi- 
tation of  a  Cree  Indian.  They  then  bade  us  good- 
bye with  expressed  wishes  for  Mrs.  Clarke's  com- 
fort, health  and  enjoyment,  altogether  out  of  propor- 
tion to  her  avoirdupois.  But  it  has  been  observed 
by  numerous  philosophers,  I  believe,  that  such 
favours  are  not  distributed  by  weight. 

We  had  so  good  a  start  over  the  Beauclercs  that  in 
spite  of  our  delay  we  saw  them  just  leaving  home 
when  we  were  at  the  top  of  Robert's  long  hill.  This 
gave  us  a  pleasing  sense  of  superiority  which  Judge 
Rusher,  like  a  true  sportsman,  promised  to  maintain 
for  us  as  long  as  his  horse  flesh  could  do  it. 

As  we  drove  along  through  the  shimmering  bunch 
grass  country,  Cam  and  Sandy  and  I  sat  on  a  roll 
of  blankets  with  our  feet  hanging  over  the  tail-board. 
We  were  jolted  and  rattled  and  deafened  and  we 
breathed  dust  and  perspired  vastly,  but  we  had  an 
excellent  time.  Oh,  it  was  splendid :  the  sun  shone 
hotter  and  hotter,  the  judge  grew  very  red  faced 
and  he  cursed  pleasantly  from  time  to  time,  the 
women  promised  faithfully  to  choke  to  death  on  the 
dust  and  then  broke  the  promise  by  a  narrow  margin 
and  the  horses  coughed  constantly  with  it;  but  Sandy 
and  Cam  and  I  enjoyed  every  minute.  And  so  did 
the  others,  each  in  his  own  way.  This  was  princi- 
pally because  they  thought  they  were  on  vacation; 
and  because  they  thought  so,  they  were.  That  is 
what  vacation  is.     You  could  take  it  in  a  jute  fac- 


112  -CAM  CLARKE 

tory  if  you  knew  how.  It  was  not  the  kind  of  camp- 
ing people  In  New  York  do,  but  it  was  camping  — 
very  much  camping. 

We  kept  on  up  and  down  the  sharp  Palouse  Hills 
almost  all  day.  We  forded  the  streams  between 
them  and  went  shouting  through  mud  holes  and  up 
impossibly  steep  places  until  we  came  to  the  Indian 
Reserve.  That  was  different  country.  We  entered 
the  cool,  aromatic  pine  forests  late  in  the  afternoon 
and  Cam  said  the  horses  "  trotted  just  like  they  do  in 
dreams,"  which  was  a  statement  I  could  not  cor- 
roborate, as  I  was  not  a  good  dreamer  of  horses. 
My  dreams  are  about  goats  with  large  stomachs. 

That  night  we  camped  on  one  of  the  forks  of  the 
Hangman.  After  supper,  as  we  sat  listening  to  the 
coyote  chorus  and  consciously  breathing  the  fragrant 
air  of  the  pines,  Sarah  Clarke  got  out  what  I  de- 
scribed as  a  high-falutin',  Sunday-go-to-meetin'  banjo, 
which  she  called  a  guitar.  It  was  the  first  one  I  had 
ever  seen  and  I  thought  its  music  entrancing.  The 
lilt  of  It  set  me  all  aqulver  and  got  my  emotions  in 
such  flow  that  I  wanted  to  cry.  But  of  course  a  boy 
could  not  do  that.  I  was  willing  to  die  for  some- 
thing—  nay,  I  was  determined  to  do  so.  And 
Sarah  Clarke  saw  and  understood  —  saw  just  with 
a  glance  of  insight. 

Sarah  Clarke  played  and  sang  very  softly  for  a 
while  and  then  Judge  Rusher  and  his  fat,  good  old 
wife  joined  in  and  Cam  and  I  liked  the  effect  so  well 
that  we  told  the  judge  he  could  sing  "  almost  as 
good  "  as  a  "  nigger  "  we  had  heard  down  on  Burn- 
ham's  ranch.  We  had  Intended  that  for  the  highest 
compliment,  too,  for  we  had  admired  the  coloured 


CAM  CLARKE  113 

man  a  lot.  And  he  had  been  a  rider  as  well  as  a 
singer;  "  he  can  ride  straight  up  and  spur  'em  all 
over  and  never  claw  leather,"  was  the  way  Burnham 
described  it.  But  the  judge  did  not  seem  to  under- 
stand how  complimentary  we  meant  to  be.  He 
wanted  to  be  called  a  grand  opera  singer  or  some- 
thing like  that. 

The  singing  got  less  and  less  frequent,  the  fire  fell 
lower  and  lower  until  the  dim  moonlight,  which  came 
sifting  down  through  pine  tree  tops,  could  almost 
cast  a  shadow. 

Suddenly  Sarah  Clarke  burst  out  weeping  and  even 
when  Cam  and  I  told  her  everything  was  all  right 
she  kept  on  sobbing  and  sobbing.  I  did  not  under- 
stand, but  that  night,  when  we  were  all  in  bed  on 
the  ground  under  the  stars,  I  heard  the  judge  talking 
in  low  tones  to  his  fat  wife.  I  was  sleeping  very 
near  to  them,  so  I  heard  what  they  said. 

"  It's  funny,"  said  the  judge,  "  how  two  horses 
get  stuck  on  each  other  when  you  drive  'em  together 
a  good  deal.  When  you  separate  'em  they  whinny 
around  and  don't  seem  to  know  hardly  what  to  do, 
they're  really  distressed.  And  durned  if  it  don't 
look  as  though  people  were  the  same  —  take  Mrs. 
Clarke,  now.  She  can't  hardly  get  along  drivin' 
single." 

Mrs.  Rusher  did  not  reply  for  a  moment,  but  I 
could  hear  her  choking  down  a  sob,  which  I  knew 
came  right  from  her  kind,  big  heart. 

Then  I  suppose  I  became  very  sleepy,  for  I  thought 
the  pine  trees  began  to  sob  in  the  wind  and  the  coy- 
otes were  wailing  from  sorrow.  I  escaped  all  this 
sadness  by  going  to  sleep,  and  when  I  awoke,  the 


114  CAM  CLARKE 

crackling  of  the  fire  and  the  sizzling  of  bacon  made  a 
very  cheerful  sound,  the  call  to  breakfast.  And 
Sarah  Clarke  was  like  a  sprite,  all  full  of  life  and 
light  and  glory,  but,  oh,  so  fragile  looking. 


CHAPTER  X 

AFTER  having  travelled  all  of  another  day,  but 
now  on  dustless  roads,  we  arrived  up  towards 
the  headwaters  of  the  limpid  St.  Mary's  in 
northern  Idaho  and  went  into  permanent  camp  in  a 
little  meadow  set  down  amongst  craggy,  evergreen 
clad  mountains.  It  was  wilderness  almost  un- 
touched. 

Next  day,  while  the  judge  and  the  ladies  "  lazed  " 
around  camp  and  boiled  beans  and  played  domestic 
games  such  as  seven-up  and  California  jack,  Cam  and 
Sandy  and  I  started  our  own  enterprises.  First  we 
fished  for  trout  and  caught  some,  but  afterwards  we 
heard  from  a  prospector,  who  was  passing  along  the 
wagon  trail  headed  for  Seven  Devils,  that  the  Beau- 
clercs  were  camped  in  a  meadow  two  miles  below;  so 
we  went  down  to  see  little  Julie,  who  was  the  only 
small  "  kid  "  in  their  party.  This  prospector  also 
imparted  to  us  the  information  that  asafetida  had  an 
odour  peculiarly  attractive  to  trout  and  he  advised  us 
to  carry  some  in  our  bait  box.  I  took  his  advice  and 
I  suppose  it  cost  me  friends,  but  I  forgave  him. 

When  we  found  Julie,  she  had  just  discovered  that 
she  was  a  captive  princess  waiting  to  be  rescued. 
We  liked  that  for  it  made  us  remember  that  we  were 
knights,  which  we  had  forgotten  for  several  days. 
We  told  her  about  it  and  promised  we  would  come 

"S 


ii6  GAM  CLARKE 

down  to  rescue  her  next  morning  after  we  came  back 
from  fishing,  providing  nothing  happened.  In  the 
meantime,  we  advised  her  not  to  worry,  and  com- 
manded her  not  to  eat  anything  outside  meal  time 
except  bread,  water  and  cake.  This  precaution  was 
taken,  said  Cam,  to  prevent  her  being  poisoned. 
"  And,  besides,"  said  Sandy,  who  had  no  Imagination, 
*'  she  might  forget  she  was  a  captive  If  she  didn't 
have  nothing  to  'mind  her  of  it."  Which  statement 
disgusted  Cam,  so  Sandy  took  it  back. 

As  we  moved  away,  Julie  got  behind  a  wagon- 
wheel,  of  which  she  said  the  spokes  were  prison  bars, 
and  from  between  these  bars  she  waved  a  handker- 
chief at  us  in  farewell.  The  last  we  heard  she  was 
calling  upon  us  as  true  knights  not  to  forget. 

We  started  back  towards  our  own  camp,  engaged 
in  nothing  at  all.  Just  before  we  arrived,  we  passed 
through  a  heavily  wooded,  deep,  dark  gulch.  Into 
which  the  sun  almost  never  shone.  There  was  a 
clear  creek  wiggle-waggling  forth  and  back  across 
the  floor  of  It,  which  was  carpeted  with  needles  and 
moss.  Cam  stopped  and  said  he  had  decided  that 
this  was  just  the  place  to  bring  the  revolver  and  the 
tobacco,  for  we  were  smugglers  in  addition  to  being 
knights  and  professional  rescuers  of  lady  captives, 
and  this  was  a  fine  place  for  smugglers,  the  very  best 
place  imaginable. 

Sandy  and  I  were  surprised  and  I  said  I  did  not 
believe  a  fellow  could  be  all  those  things  at  once. 
Cam  asked  scornfully  where  I  had  ever  seen  any 
knights  or  smugglers  or  rescuers,  anyway,  and  said 
I  had  better  shut  up.  I  admitted  that  he  was  right, 
that  I  had  never  seen  such  things ;  but  I  said  I  would 


CAM  CLARKE  117 

not  shut  up.  I  did,  however,  and  Cam  grunted  like 
people  do  on  the  stage,  and  I  concluded  that  Worces- 
ter, Massachusetts,  must  be  a  livelier  place  than  I 
had  hitherto  believed,  if  smugglers  and  knights  lived 
in  it. 

We  sneaked  down  to  camp,  secured  the  revolver 
and  tobacco  from  the  sack,  and  ran  back  to  the  gulch. 
Some  distance  up  in  it  behind  a  big  rock  we  started 
a  fire  and  then  we  got  out  the  revolver  and  tried  to 
shoot  it  for  a  long  time.  It  would  not  fire,  but  after 
we  had  given  up,  Sandy  shot  it  accidentally  and  the 
bullet  skinned  the  calf  of  his  leg  and  made  a  hole  in 
the  ground  you  could  put  your  hand  in.  We  were 
all  frightened,  especially  Sandy,  who  thought  he  was 
killed  and  wanted  his  mother.  But  Cam  sucked  the 
little  skinned  place  just  as  you  do  for  a  rattlesnake 
bite,  and  that  made  Sandy  feel  so  important  that  he 
actually  laughed  and  said  he  was  glad  he  had  been 
shot.     Afterwards  he  practised  limping. 

Well,  we  did  not  fool  with  the  revolver  any  more. 
We  put  it  on  a  rotten  log  away  over  by  itself.  But 
we  lighted  up  our  pipes,  which  almost  choked  us,  and 
we  were  starting  to  make  plans  for  rescuing  the 
princess  without  the  revolver,  when  I  noticed  that 
Sandy  had  commenced  to  turn  pale  and  that  Cam 
had,  too. 

I  said,  "What's  matter,  fellers?''  and  I  felt 
squeamish  myself. 

Cam  said,  "  The  dum  world's  whirlin'  round  like 
a  pin-wheel  'n  I'm  sick,"  and  he  lay  down  and  would 
not  say  a  single  word  more. 

Sandy  and  I  got  as  sick  as  Cam  did.  We  could 
not,  I  regret  to  admit,  keep  down  our  dinners  or  our 


ii8  CAM  CLARKE 

presence  of  mind  or  anything.  I  thought  we  were 
going  to  die.  Just  when  we  were  sickest,  I  heard  a 
rustling  behind  me  in  the  leaves.  I  managed  to  look 
around  after  a  long  while  and  there  was  Judge 
Rusher,  looking  as  stern  as  a  fat,  jolly  man  can  look. 
We  paid  no  attention  to  him,  we  just  shut  our  eyes 
and  went  ahead  dying.  We  were  not  going  to  be 
interfered  with  on  the  dying  schedule,  we  had  no  time 
for  complaints. 

The  judge  sat  down  and  waited.  When  we  could 
move,  he  made  us  throw  all  the  tobacco  in  the  fire  — 
"  Damn  rotten  stuff !  "  said  he,  severely  puffing  his 
own  pipe.  Then  he  took  the  revolver  and  tried  to 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  but  it  was  too  big,  so  he  carried  it. 

Judge  Rusher  said  almost  nothing,  but  he  even- 
tually made  us  all  march  back  to  camp  single  file  and 
cut  wood  in  the  sun  for  two  hours  on  empty  stomachs 
without  ever  saying  a  word  to  each  other.  And  he 
watched  us  with  one  canny  gray  eye  to  see  that  we 
executed  the  sentence.  It  was  very  discouraging  to 
smoking,  so  discouraging  that  I  did  not  try  it  again 
for  two  weeks.  I  suppose  if  you  killed  a  boy  he 
would  give  up  smoking  for  good  —  but  who  knows? 

I  took  no  interest  in  things  at  all  by  the  time  I  had 
finished  cutting  the  wood.  I  did  not  even  care  about 
the  captive  princess.  And  as  Sandy  felt  the  same 
way,  he  and  I  bolted  a  barrel  of  supper  and  crawled 
off  to  bed.  Not  so  Cam.  In  about  an  hour  he  woke 
us  up  and  lighted  a  candle  in  our  little  tent. 

"  How's  this,"  he  whispered  hoarsely,  *'  for  a  let- 
ter to  the  Princess  Julie?  We'll  take  it  to  her  to- 
night.'' 


CAM  CLARKE  119 

''  Princess: 

"  Your  faithful  nights  have  had  heeps  of  truble. 
Be  not  discurriged.  We  will  nock  three  times  on  a 
holler  tree  trunk  and  then  whistle.     Trust  nobudy. 

"  S.  C.  M." 

The  signature,  he  Informed  us,  stood  jointly  for 
Sandy,  Cam  and  Mart. 

"  What  you  goln'  to  do  with  it?  "  I  asked  sleepily, 
and  quite  without  enthusiasm. 

"  Sh  —  I  "  cautioned  Cam,  "  the  tent  walls  have 
ears  like  a  mule  deer.  I'm  agoin'  to  stick  it  through 
the  prison  bars  to  the  Princess  Julie.  Are  you  a 
true  knight  or  ain't  you  ?     Come  on  I  " 

Sandy  and  I  agreed,  having  now  got  a  little  awake, 
that  that  was  a  good,  sporty  plan;  so  we  dressed 
quietly,  which  so  far  as  I  was  concerned  was  no  com- 
plicated thing  to  do,  and  sneaked  out.  We  called 
cautiously  our  pack  of  hounds,  consisting  of  toothless 
Jack,  Rusher's  old  pet  dog,  and  trotted  off  down  the 
dusty  trail  which  the  moon  lighted  until  it  was  as 
bright  as  day.  After  we  got  a  little  way  from  camp 
it  was  scary,  for  the  shadows  were  dark  and  we  heard 
wolves  and  once  we  even  heard  a  cougar,  but  we 
nevertheless  kept  on.  Cam  leading,  until  we  saw  the 
white  tents  of  the  Beauclercs'  camp  shining  in  the 
meadow. 

We  stopped  to  listen  and  to  reconnoitre,  as  we  had 
read  that  people  do  in  such  circumstances.  Besides, 
we  felt  like  listening.  Everything  was  as  still  as  a 
graveyard,  so  we  slipped  up  into  camp  very  quietly 
on  our  stomachs  and  Cam  put  the  sheet  of  paper  be- 


I20  CAM  CLARKE 

tween  the  wagon  spokes  and  put  a  stone  on  It  and 
then  we  ran  as  fast  as  we  could.  This  had  been 
simple  enough.  But  Beauclerc's  dog  complicated 
things  by  running  after  us  and  that  dog  could  beat  us. 
When  he  caught  me,  he  nipped  me  on  the  bare  calf 
of  my  leg.  Fortunately,  he  did  not  like  the  taste. 
He  quit  and  went  home,  while  I  kept  going  —  oh, 
very  much  did  I  keep  going. 

When  we  had  quieted  down  again  to  an  easy  walk 
and  had  reduced  our  hearts  to  suitable  size,  old  Jack, 
the  hound,  started  something  on  the  side  lines  out  In 
the  brush.  First  there  came  a  crashing  and  a  de- 
lighted yelp  from  Jack,  and  then  a  hissing  and  some 
woful  howls,  then  scrambling  and  more  howling  and 
all  coming  our  way !  We  were  more  frightened  than 
ever,  and  we  stretched  our  legs  three  Inches  In  run- 
ning. We  ran  as  only  the  frightened  can  run,  and 
we  went  straight  for  camp  and  our  own  little  white 
tent.  Jack  was  behind  us,  yelping  every  step.  No 
doubt,  thought  I  wildly,  he  has  stirred  up  seven  or 
eight  grizzly  bears. 

We  arrived  in  the  tent  first,  but  Jack  was  on  top 
of  us  instantly,  whining  like  himself  and  squirming 
like  an  eel  —  and  horrors  I  The  odour  he  brought 
with  him  was  suffocating,  for  the  old  fool  had  tackled 
a  skunk  and  had  got  a  splendid  dose  of  its  wrath. 
So  had  we!  Jack  brought  It.  He  wiped  himself 
on  us  and  on  our  bedclothes  and  on  the  tent  and  on 
the  ground  and  then  he  repeated. 

We  at  length  rose  In  a  panic  and  drove  him  off  with 
sticks,  and  just  then  little  Judge  Rusher  walked  Into 
our  midst  so  angry  with  being  waked  up  that  he  cuffed 


CAM  CLARKE  121 

us  every  direction.  I  presume  if  we  had  not  smelled 
so  bad  he  would  have  cuffed  us  more  and  nobody 
could  blame  him.     I  have  never  seen  him  so  angry. 

Well,  we  actually  had  to  burn  some  of  our  stuff  in 
the  cause  of  sanitation,  and  we  had  to  tie  Jack  down 
by  the  river.  By  the  time  we  were  fixed  for  bed 
again  we  all  felt  ready  to  die.  Cam  and  I  talked  it 
over  and  we  decided  that  a  boy's  lot  was  pretty  rotten 
these  days,  anyway,  and  we  had  commenced  to  talk 
a  little  of  suicide  when  there  came  a  flapping  at  the 
tent  door  and  Sarah  Clarke  entered,  though  how  she 
stood  the  odour  of  skunk  I  do  not  see  to  this  day. 

She  kneeled  down  and  laughed  at  us  in  a  sweet 
sort  of  badinage  and  called  us  "  silly  boys."  You 
should  have  seen  us  cheer  up. 

**  You  haven't  had  much  luck  to-day,  have  you?  " 
she  said,  and  then  she  patted  us  and  whisked  out, 
casting  us  a  laughing  glance  over  her  shoulder  from 
the  door,  but  I  fancy  the  fresh  air  tasted  good  to  her 
when  she  got  out,  even  if  she  had  not  mentioned 
skunk  to  us.  Refraining  from  mentioning  skunk 
under  those  circumstances  was,  in  my  opinion,  the 
height  of  courtesy. 

She  had  cheered  us  up  a  good  deal  and  after  she 
left  we  were  drowsily  able  to  speculate  with  pleasure 
on  the  fun  we  would  have  telling  the  boys  at  home  of 
the  adventure.  We  decided  we  would  embellish  — 
there  was  no  virtue  in  us.  I  believe,  indeed,  we  were 
going  to  say  there  were  twenty  skunks  and  three 
hounds ;  but  Judge  Rusher  remarked  to  us  from  his 
tent  in  tones  of  wrath  that  if  we  did  not  shut  up  he'd 
skin  us  alive.     We  believed  him  and  shut  up  and 


122  GAM  CLARKE 

then  sleep  took  us  off.  If  I  had  known  the  statistics 
on  the  number  of  boys  actually  skinned  annually  I 
should  not  have  believed  him  so  readily.  But  boys 
never  do  know  such  statistics,  or  parenthood  would 
be  unbearable. 


CHAPTER  XI 

ON  account  of  the  necessity  of  spending  a  day  in 
the  river,  scrubbing  ourselves,  our  clothes 
and  Jack,  the  dog,  free  from  skunk  odour, 
we  were  delayed  in  executing  our  plan  to  rescue  the 
Princess  Julie  from  the  dungeon  of  the  "  Wagon- 
wheels.''  To  this  delay  we  owed  the  privilege  of 
making  the  acquaintance  of  Whitey  McGrath,  the 
afterwards  so  celebrated  horse-thief.  Also,  to  that 
circumstance  Julie  owed  it  that  she  never  did  get 
rescued. 

On  the  morning  following  the  day  of  scrubbing,  we 
fancied  that  we  were  ready  to  proceed  with  the  rescue 
of  Julie.  Instead  of  going  directly  to  Beauclerc's 
camp,  however.  Cam  suggested  that  as  a  matter  of 
strategy  it  was  our  duty  to  start  in  the  opposite  direc- 
tion. ''  It'll  throw  'em  off  the  trail,"  said  Cam  de- 
cisively. We  agreed  with  enthusiasm,  but  I  can  not 
now  remember  just  what  persons  were  expected  to 
trail  us.  Still,  I  am  sure  they  were  shrewd,  formid- 
able people. 

We  took  the  little  Flobert  rifle  and  our  lunch  and 
started  up  towards  the  Seven  Devils,  saying  we  were 
hunting  deer.  Why  the  elders  let  us  go  is  not  en- 
tirely comprehensible  to  me  now,  but  I  fancy  Judge 
Rusher  decided  it.  His  idea  was  to  give  a  boy  his 
head;  and  it  is  a  good  idea,  too,  for  a  fool  won't  last 

123 


124  €AM  CLARKE 

long  anyway  and  he  might  as  well  be  killed  when  a 
boy,  and  a  sensible  person  can  not  be  hurt.  If  he  is 
hurt  it  proves  that  he  is  not  sensible. 

As  we  went  along,  Cam  said  this  arrangement 
suited  him,  as  it  gave  him  a  chance  to  explore  some 
new  trails  as  well  as  to  practise  strategy  and  he  had 
always  intended  to  be  an  explorer,  anyway.  Indeed, 
I  believe  he  said  that  he  was  an  explorer.  Explor- 
ing suited  Sandy  and  me  well  enough,  but  we  were 
not  reckless  explorers.  We  always  had  our  eyes 
open  for  boa-constrictors  and  cannibals  and  dwarfs 
and  frequently  Sandy  would  lie  down  and  crawl 
fifty  yards  on  his  stomach,  stalking  something  that 
did  not  exist.  It  was  very  exhilarating.  And*  any 
time  we  wanted  to,  we  could  change  our  minds,  be- 
come knights  and  go  rescue  Julie.  It  was  more  than 
exhilarating;  it  was  like  being  rich  enough  to  own  a 
yacht  and  not  doing  it  because  you  preferred  a  career 
of  philanthropy. 

After  a  while  we  came  to  a  little  meadow  with  an 
old  Indian  woman  kneeling  out  in  the  centre  of  it 
digging  camas,  which  is  a  wild  bulb  that  looks  like 
an  onion  and  tastes  like  nothing  at  all  —  say  like  rice 
or  potatoes.  It  grows  in  wet  ground  and  it  some- 
times prevents  Indians  from  starving  and  it  is  edible 
if  you  are  hungry  enough. 

I  was  going  up  to  the  woman  to  have  a  pow-wow 
with  her,  as  I  knew  Chinook,  the  Indian  Esperanto, 
pretty  well  —  so  well  that  I  could  ask  where  she 
lived  and  what  was  her  name,  without  perspiring  a 
bit.  But  Cam  and  Sandy  said  that  would  not  do,  it 
was  too  coarse ;  we  must  use  strategy.  We  must  sur- 
round and  capture  alive  this  force  of  savages.     We 


CAM  CLARKE  125 

did  so.  Each  one  of  us  sneaked  around  to  a  different 
side  of  the  meadow  and  then  Cam  yelled  and  we  all 
yelled  and  ran  at  her  as  though  she  had  been  a  cart 
of  mince  pies. 

At  first  she  showed  about  as  much  sign  of  emotion 
as  would  the  mince  pies  under  similar  circumstances, 
though  whether  it  was  because  we  were  small,  or 
whether  it  was  because  she  was  an  Indian,  I  do  not 
know.  Later  she  laughed  and  shook  and  gurgled 
like  a  hot  spring  boiling  up  through  the  mud.  That 
made  us  indignant,  but  she  persevered  in  this  cachin- 
natory  exercise. 

When  we  got  a  look  at  her  face,  however,  we  were 
instantly  mollified,  for  we  in  turn  recognised  her.  It 
was  old  Susan  who  used  to  come  to  Washtucna  to  buy 
"  lemon  extract,"  which,  as  "  she  was  sold,"  was  pure 
fire.  This  she  varied  with  stomach  bitters  and  celery 
elixir.  Nobody  could  expect  Susan  to  be  frightened, 
so  we  forgave  her. 

Still,  I  was  discouraged  and  so  was  Sandy. 
"  Shuh,"  said  he  morosely,  "  it  ain't  nobody  but 
Susan!  "  Cam,  however,  was  delighted.  He  cried 
excitedly,  "  By  jing,  this  is  luck!  This  is  a  friendly 
native,  she'll  be  a  big  help  as  a  guide  all  right.  We 
gotta  treat  her  fine  so  she  won't  leave  the  expedition. 
Yes,  sir,  treat  her  fine  !  " 

With  that  Cam  went  forward  as  polite  as  you 
please,  and  gave  Susan  two  dirty  soda  crackers  out 
of  his  pocket.  She  munched  them  and  patted  our 
heads  and  gurgled  and  clucked  as  Indians  do,  and  she 
and  I  inquired  all  about  each  other's  families  and 
said  It  was  splendid  to  hear  all  the  good  news  which 
we  imparted  to  each  other.     And  then  we  sat  in  the 


126  CAM  CLARKE 

sun  and  had  a  long  sociable  silence.  Indians  are 
good  company  when  you  want  to  be  alone. 

I,  however,  was  growing  a  little  tired  of  Susan 
and  of  sitting  still,  and  I  commenced  to  squirm.  On 
one  of  my  squirms  I  looked  over  my  shoulder  and 
there  I  saw  a  man  walking  and  staggering  along  the 
trail  as  though  he  were  either  drunk  or  sick.  At 
first  I  assumed  that  it  was  sickness,  as  there  were  not 
many  people  who  had  foresight  enough  to  carry  suffi- 
cient rum  to  keep  them  drunk  so  far  into  the  wilder- 
ness, and  I  wished  I  were  a  doctor.  The  man  was 
leading  a  horse.  As  he  came  closer,  I  changed  my 
diagnosis.  It  did  not  take  a  physician  to  see  that  it 
was  liquor  instead  of  sickness  and  that  he  was  ex- 
ceedingly drunk.  I  pointed  silently  at  him  and  all 
four  of  us  turned  to  look.  Susan  was  pleased :  where 
there  was  so  much  drunkenness  there  must  be  some 
liquor  —  perhaps  a  lady  could  beg  a  drink. 

When  he  got  closer,  I  saw  it  was  Whitey  McGrath, 
whom  I  had  often  seen  in  Washtucna,  hanging  around 
Jan  Havland's  saloon  —  not  that  any  one  wanted 
him  there,  but  there  was  a  genuine  delicacy  felt  about 
ejecting  him.  This  delicacy  arose  from  the  fact  that 
Whitey  McGrath  always  had  two  revolvers  strapped 
to  his  stomach,  and  that  Washtucnans  generally  be- 
lieved that  he  was  consumed  with  a  desire  to  use 
them.  In  short,  people  were  as  delicate  in  handling 
him  as  they  would  have  been  in  handling  a  rattle- 
snake. Nobody  liked  him,  but  some  people,  includ- 
ing me,  were  afraid  of  him.  I  saw,  as  he  ap- 
proached, that  he  was  wearing  his  guns  that  day  and 
I  confess  I  was  frightened  a  good  deal  and  I  would 
have  preferred  to  leave.     However,  I  stayed  with 


CAM  CLARKE  127 

Cam  and  Susan,  but  Sandy  did  run.  He  dodged  into 
the  brush  just  as  soon  as  he  saw  Whitey.  I  stayed 
behind  because  Cam  did,  and  Cam  stayed  because  he 
wanted  to.  But  Sandy  was  wise  that  day,  not  with 
his  brain,  for  he  had  not  any,  but  with  his  instinct, 
which  he  turned  loose. 

As  Whitey  came  across  towards  us,  I  saw  that  he 
had  following  him  one  of  the  prettiest  mares  I  had 
ever  seen.  She  was  a  bay  with  a  bald  face  and  with 
white  feet,  and  her  legs  were  as  slender  and  strong 
looking  as  steel  bars  —  I  refer,  of  course,  to  strong, 
slender  steel  bars.  She  appeared  gentle,  but  it  was 
evident  that  she  was  high  spirited.  When  she  got 
pretty  close  she  stopped  and  snorted,  not  liking  the 
smell  of  Indian.  Whitey  jerked  her  and  attempted 
to  lead  her  along.  Then  with  a  plunge  and  another 
snort,  she  bowled  him  over,  wheeled  and  bolted. 

Whitey  got  up  slowly,  swearing  constantly  as  he 
did  so.  We  sat  still.  He  came  over  towards  us. 
"  Susan,"  he  said,  *'  by  G-god,  I  gotch  a  m-mind  to 
ki-ill  you  —  thash  right  I  An'  mebbe  some  o'  thesh 
boysh,  too  —  yas,  sir  I  " 

I  regretted  keenly  at  this  stage  that  I  had  not  fol- 
lowed Sandy,  but  Cam  and  Susan  seemed  satisfied. 
Susan,  indeed,  was  not  half  so  much  interested  in 
Whitey's  threats  as  she  was  in  the  possibility  of  get- 
ting a  drink.  While  he  promised  to  barbecue  her, 
she  went  smilingly  through  his  various  pockets  hunt- 
ing for  a  bottle  and  saying  to  him  at  every  motion, 
"  Hiu  tillicums/^  which  was  to  say,  "  We  are  great 
friends.**  Whitey  seemed  to  like  this;  he  looked 
really  amiable.  He  chucked  Susan  under  the  chin, 
he  said  "  Hiu  tillicums  ^'  himself,  and  finally  he  told 


128  CAM  CLARKE 

us  he  would  give  us  a  quarter  to  catch  his  "  cayuse  " 
—  which  was  not  a  cayuse  at  all,  but  a  thoroughbred. 

We  caught  the  mare  without  any  trouble,  though 
it  was  strange  that  she  had  not  cleared  out  for  home 
when  she  found  herself  loose.  Most  horses  will  do 
this.  We  led  her  up  to  Whitey  and  Susan  and  this 
time  she  was  either  used  to  Susan  or,  being  to  wind- 
ward, she  failed  to  scent  her.  That  a  white  man's 
horse  or  mule  dislikes  the  odour  of  Indian  is  strange, 
as  strange  as  the  fact  that  savages  sometimes  dislike 
the  odour  of  civilised  man. 

Whitey  was  by  this  time  making  love  to  Susan,  but 
when  Susan  made  certain  that  he  had  no  '^  skookum 
water,"  she  got  tired,  shoved  him  roughly  away  and 
told  him  to  ''  clatawa^^  which  means  to  go.  This 
remark  Susan  repeated  with  emphasis,  and  as  she 
spoke  picked  up  a  piece  of  wood  for  size  about  like 
a  pick-handle.  Whitey,  though,  would  not  be  re- 
pulsed. He  ogled  the  old  woman  and  smiled  at  her 
and  made  attempts  to  embrace  her,  which  in  violence 
were  considerably  out  of  proportion  to  the  old  lady's 
charms.  Finally,  however,  he  seemed  to  give  up. 
He  swung  awkwardly  into  the  saddle  and  was  mak- 
mg  off  when  I  asked  him  very  politely,  "  Where's 
that  quarter^  Mr.  McGrath?  You  ain't  forgot  it, 
have  you?" 

I  would  not  have  asked  him  if  I  had  known  how  he 
would  feel  about  it.  It  was  the  wrong  remark  to 
make  to  him.  I  thought  he  would  blow  up  with  rage. 
He  whirled  his  horse  on  its  hind  legs  and  rode  at  us, 
cursing  every  jump.  We  beat  him  to  the  brush  and 
got  behind  a  big  fallen  log.  This  he  tried  to  hurdle, 
but  after  barking  his  horse's  knees  he  gave  up  and 


CAM  CLARKE  129 

rode  away.  Cam  and  I  kept  quiet  this  time  as  he 
went,  because  we  thought  perhaps  that  would  be 
about  the  best  way  to  save  our  hves.  But  Whitey 
had  not  finished.  He  rode  over  towards  Susan  again 
and  half  fell  out  of  his  saddle  and  tried  to  embrace 
the  old  creature. 

Susan,  however,  was  out  of  patience  with  philan- 
dering unlubricated  with  liquor.  She  stepped  back, 
swung  the  imitation  pick-handle  like  a  man  and 
clouted  him  alongside  the  head.  It  knocked  him 
down  and  I  thought  it  had  killed  him,  for  he  did  not 
move  for  a  long  time.  Susan  did  not  seem  to  care. 
She  went  ahead  digging  camas.  I  did  not  much  care 
myself,  but  I  remained  behind  the  log. 

After  a  while  Whitey  got  up  groggily,  and  he  acted 
soberer.  I  don't  believe  he  knew  what  had  happened 
or  ever  found  out.  He  pulled  up  into  the  saddle 
after  some  effort,  and,  still  reeling,  galloped  off  on 
the  beautiful  bald-faced  thoroughbred,  headed  for 
Seven  Devils  —  and  I  never  mentioned  that  quarter 
to  him  as  we  went;  nor  would  I  have  mentioned  it 
for  a  wagon  load  of  quarters. 

We  all  came  back  into  the  open,  Sandy  last  of  all, 
and  we  christened  Susan  "  Pick-handle  Sally,"  which 
name  spread  and  became  known  wherever  she  was 
known.  She  was  proud  of  it  and  finally  would 
answer  to  no  other  name.  I  often  wonder  if  Whitey 
McGrath  ever  heard  what  happened. 

We  then  said  we  would  open  our  package  and 
lunch  there  with  Susan,  giving  up  the  rescue  of  Julie 
for  the  day.  But  when  we  proposed  this  to  Susan, 
she  said,  ''  Halo  —  tinas  clatawa,  hiu  skookum 
muckamuckf'  which  is  to  say,  if  we  would  travel  a 


I30  CAM  CLARKE 

little  way  with  her,  she  would  lead  us  to  some  good 
food  —  not  lunch,  but  good  solid  food.  We  said  we 
did  not  care  how  good  food  we  ate  and  we  followed 
Susan  down  to  the  Indian  camp,  where  she  gave  us 
some  baked  camas  and  jerked  venison  and  we  gave 
her  two  apples.  We  all  had  a  good  time,  including 
Susan,  but  the  place  did  smell  like  a  glue  factory. 
The  flies  were  bad,  too,  and  they  were  starving  hun- 
gry, so  we  left  when  we  could.  Susan  was  a  good 
squaw,  but  she  was  somewhat  ignorant  concerning 
sanitation.  Indian  camps,  however,  have  their  vir- 
tues: you  can  move  them  when  you  have  made  the 
surroundings  unbearably  dirty. 

On  the  way  back  to  camp  we  shot  a  blue  jay  and 
when  we  got  home  we  had  a  supper  of  syrup  and 
beans  which  we  liked.  Nobody  died  from  them 
either.  They  are  good  food  and  they  are  either  a 
cure  for  indigestion  or  a  proof  that  you  have  not  got 
it,  or  something  like  that. 

We  told  Judge  Rusher  about  our  adventure  with 
Whitey,  and  the  judge  said  Whitey  ought  to  be 
hanged  and  would  be,  and  when  he  said  it,  he  snapped 
his  jaws  together  like  a  steel  trap.  That  meant  that 
he  would  help  hang  him  if  ever  he  had  a  chance. 
The  judge  was,  you  see,  a  man  of  strong  opinions. 
Then  he  made  us  describe  the  horse  over  and  over 
and  when  we  got  through,  he  wrote  down  a  descrip- 
tion of  it,  **  for  reference,'*  he  said.  Eventually  he 
used  that  reference,  but  that  was  afterwards. 

As  we  were  sitting  around  the  camp  that  night,  a 
little  blear-eyed,  gray  bearded  man  rode  in  with  two 
pack  ponies  behind  him,  each  one  tied  to  the  tail  of 
the  horse  ahead.     He  was  a  prospector  just  out  from 


CAM  CLARKE  131 

Washtucna  and  he  had  a  box  for  Mrs.  Clarke,  sent 
by  "  devoted  friends."  There  was  a  bunch  of 
bedraggled  roses  from  Mr.  Skookum  Jones,  the 
product,  doubtless,  of  a  Spokane  greenhouse,  two 
cans  of  caviar  from  Punts,  M.D.,  and  a  letter  from 
John  Bradford. 

We  boys  went  to  bed  lamenting  that  the  Princess 
Julie  still  was  unrescued  and  Mrs.  Clarke  went  to 
bed  looking  sad.  She  told  Cam  and  me  next  day 
that  it  was  because  people  were  kind,  which  we  said 
was  no  reason  at  all. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WE  never  did  rescue  the  Princess  Julie.  We 
went  to  see  her  next  day  and  found  she  had 
forgotten  she  was  in  a  dungeon  anyway,  so 
we  discharged  her  as  a  captive  princess  and  took 
her  into  our  gang  as  a  lady  fisherman  and  an  ex- 
plorer. But  her  mother  kept  her  around  camp  so 
her  explorations  were  somewhat  restricted.  When 
we  got  tired  of  being  sportsmen  we  became  bookish 
and  spent  three  days  in  reading  our  five-cent  novels 
aloud  to  each  other.  After  that  it  was  time  to  start 
back  to  Washtucna.  Julie  had  liked  the  novels  im- 
mensely and  we  all  wished  some  one  would  commit 
a  crime  to  give  us  practice  in  detective  work. 

We  arrived  in  Washtucna  a  week  to  a  day  after 
our  encounter  with  the  redoubtable  Whitey  Mc- 
Grath.  I  remember  so  exactly  because  meeting  Mc- 
Grath  had  been  for  us  boys  the  event  of  the  excur- 
sion —  an  event  even  beyond  being  shipmates  with 
skunk  odour.  We  felt  pretty  good  —  wild,  hilari- 
ous and  full  of  baked  beans  and  trout.  And  we  were 
as  sun  tanned  as  an  old  campaign  hat  from  the 
tropics.  It  had  done  us  all  good  and  the  good 
showed  even  in  Sarah  Clarke's  face,  which  seemed 
less  thin  and  which  peeled  to  a  beautiful  brown 
colour. 

Washtucna  had  been  busy  growing  and  so  fast  she 
grew  that  our  ten  days'  absence  had  been  a  long  time 

132 


CAM  CLARKE  133 

in  her  history.  The  new  arrivals,  Indeed,  were  so 
numerous  that  the  temporary  absence  of  the  old  in- 
habitants had  been  to  a  remarkable  degree  unnoticed. 
And  this  effect  was  heightened  by  the  fact  that  those 
old  inhabitants  who  stayed  at  home  had  striven  ex- 
ceedingly hard  to  please,  to  talk  and  lie  like  the 
whole  town  full  of  us.  Altogether,  I  doubt  if  we 
were  missed.  A  conclusion  which  I  shall  never  im- 
part to  Judge  Rusher,  nor,  indeed,  to  Cam,  whose 
weakness  it  has  always  been  to  fancy  himself  indis- 
pensable. 

News  met  us  at  the  door,  also  John  Bradford  and 
Doc  Punts,  who  Informed  us  in  detail  of  the  news, 
while  later  up  galloped  breathlessly  Mr.  Skookum 
Jones  on  his  pinto  cayuse.  I  need  not  say  that  I 
waited  to  hear  all  the  details  of  this  news  instead  of 
rushing  home  to  the  bosom  of  my  family.  This  is 
partly  to  be  attributed  to  the  extreme  hardness  and 
unevenness  of  my  family's  bosom  and  partly  to  curi- 
osity. 

It  appeared  shortly  that  Mr.  Jack  Snell,  a  violent 
young  adherent  to  the  Sinners'  party,  had  shot  Mr. 
Horlacker,  the  editor  of  The  JVashtucna  Sun,  in  the 
stomach,  on  account  of  a  playful  editorial  in  which 
Mr.  Horlacker  had  In  print  adverted  to  Mr.  Snell 
as  a  "  cattle-thief  and  a  liar."  This  news  being  Im- 
parted, Punts,  Bradford  and  Jones  withdrew  to  let 
Sarah  Clarke  rest,  their  faces  as  radiant  as  possible. 
Whereupon  Mr.  Gunnysack  appeared  and  proceeded 
to  recite  the  whole  circumstances,  Mrs.  Clarke  lis- 
tening and  smiling  with  a  patience  beyond  belief. 
At  this  juncture  I  was  removed  home  by  my  parent, 
who  came  up  and  grasped  me  firmly  by  the  left  ear. 


134  CAM  CLARKE 

Saints,  it  need  not  be  remarked,  were  highly  in- 
censed at  the  shooting  of  Mr.  Horlacker.  They 
considered  such  an  act  a  threat  against  the  freedom 
of  the  press  and  they  talked  of  lynching  Mr.  Snell. 
Sinners,  on  the  other  hand,  were  very  well  satisfied. 
Judge  Rusher,  the  king  Sinner,  after  considering  the 
case  maturely,  said  that  on  the  whole  he  believed  Mr. 
Horlacker  had  every  cause  to  congratulate  himself 
that  his  wound  was  from  an  honourable  revolver 
shot,  whereas  gentlemen  of  Mr.  Horlacker's  moral 
standing  usually  reckoned  for  their  sins  ignobly,  say 
on  the  end  of  a  rope.  As  for  threats  of  lynching, 
said  lynching  could  only  be  carried  out  over  the  car- 
cass of  Judge  Rusher.  In  the  sentiments  opposing 
lynching  Judge  Rusher  was  joined  by  those  influ- 
ential non-partizans,  Mr.  John  Bradford,  Mr. 
Skookum  Jones  and  Punts,  M.D.  "  It'll  teach  that 
Horlacker  sport  not  to  be  such  a  violent  writer,"  said 
Skookum,  "  and  for  that  reason  I  hold  the  shooting 
justified."  Punts  said  Horlacker  would  not  die  and 
tTiat  as  he.  Punts,  had  always  "  been  a  violent  parti- 
zan  of  moderation  in  language  and  in  other  things," 
he  was  not  in  favor  of  any  lynching  business,  *^  no 
matter  in  whose  honour  pulled  off."  Most  potent  of 
all  was  John  Bradford,  who,  so  far  as  I  know,  said 
nothing  but  just  looked. 

Mr.  Beauclerc  arrived  back  in  Washtucna  the 
same  day  that  the  judge  did,  and  as  these  two  were 
the  acknowledged  leaders  of  the  belligerent  parties. 
Saints  and  Sinners  flowed  silently  into  town  from  all 
the  surrounding  country,  revolvers  at  belt  or  in  bulg- 
ing hip  pockets.  It  was  like  a  civil  war  on  a  small 
scale.     The   Tennessee   Hotel  was  jam   full   that 


CAM  CLARKE  135 

night,  and  In  addition  men  slept  where  they  could, 
bivouacked  on  their  arms  on  floors  and  sidewalks. 
Judge  Rusher's  house  was  a  garrison,  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc's  was  another  and  the  women  and  children  from 
each  were  sent  out  trembling  to  the  houses  of  distant 
neighbours.  Mr.  Jack  Snell  was  guarded  by  his  fel- 
low Sinners  as  though  he  were  the  Czar  of  Russia 
warned  of  a  dynamite  plot. 

It  was  like  some  real  wars,  I  say;  just  as  ridiculous, 
just  as  inspiring.  Men  strode  about  town  grimly 
and  silently,  others  sat  at  cards  or  at  drinking  at  Jan 
Havland's,  with  their  hands  kept  free  for  use  and 
their  eyes  looking  around  every  which  way  like  glass- 
eyed  cayuse  ponies  looking  for  something  at  which 
to  shy. 

Of  course  all  these  men  had  forgotten  or  had  never 
known  what  the  war  was  about.  And,  alas,  I  do  not 
now  know  whether  the  Saints  were  fighting  for  the 
right  to  call  a  man  a  cattle-thief  and  a  liar  or  whether 
the  Sinners  were  fighting  for  the  privilege  of  shoot- 
ing people  who  write  things  that  do  not  suit  your 
taste.  And  in  this  respect  It  was  like  war,  too. 
And,  Indeed,  nobody  cared  what  the  war  was  about: 
it  was  the  irresponsible,  exciting  war  game  of  healthy 
barbarian  children,  and  a  most  interesting  game  it  was 
to  the  participants.  Even  the  women  and  children 
had  the  fun  of  wondering  whether  their  relatives 
would  be  killed  or  not,  and,  though  I  have  nowhere 
seen  it  so  stated,  I  believed  there  Is  considerable 
sport  for  a  good  healthy  woman  in  such  speculations. 
It  Is  good  fun !  Napoleon  and  Bismarck  and  Fried- 
rich  had  their  fun  in  their  time,  now  it  was  the  turn 
of  the  Palouse  Country. 


136  CAM  CLARKE 

In  the  early  morning  Mr.  Dan  True,  the  marshal 
of  Washtucna,  rode  sleepily  into  town.  He  was 
born  sleepy  and  he  never  had  changed.  Mr.  True 
was  a  Saint  and  an  idiot  and  the  poorest  day's  work 
Mayor  Punts,  M.D.,  ever  did  was  to  make  Mr. 
True  marshal  of  Washtucna.  Punts  was  a  sound 
man  but  he  made  a  mistake. 

Mr.  True  was  away  camping  when  word  accident- 
ally came  to  him  up  on  the  Indian  Reserve  of  the 
shooting  of  Mr.  Horlacker,  of  the  disorder  conse- 
quent thereto  and  of  the  promise  of  more  disorder. 
Mr.  True,  with  an  entirely  unexpected  zeal,  slung  a 
leg  over  his  cayuse  and  came  down,  riding  all  night 
and  no  doubt  sleeping  as  he  rode.  He  arrived  very 
early  in  the  morning.  Mr.  True,  it  has  been  re- 
marked, was  a  Saint  and  naturally  he  immediately 
at  such  a  crisis  went  to  Mr.  Beauclerc's  house  for 
consultation,  consolation  and  advice.  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc  recommended  him  to  pray  and  later  advised 
him  to  arrest  Mr.  Snell  in  the  name  of  the  law  for 
disorder  and  not  to  omit  any  opportunity  to  shoot 
him  if  he  resisted  or  tried  to  escape.  After  having 
arrested  Snell,  Mr.  Beauclerc  said  he  thought  True 
ought  to  take  him  to  Colfax  where  the  jail  was 
stronger  and  the  man's  friends  could  not  release  him 
and  where,  it  is  said,  Mr.  Beauclerc  believed 
he  could  be  more  safely  kept  for  lynching  pur- 
poses. 

Mr.  Dan  True  nodded  his  head  sagely  over  this 
advice.  Then  he  went  home  for  cogitation  and 
drank  a  quantity  of  rye  whisky  and  afterwards  sal- 
lied forth  and  talked  over  with  several  persons  who 
passed  at  that  early  hour  the  desirability  of  making 


CAM  CLARKE  137 

the  arrest  above  mentioned.  These  conversations, 
it  need  hardly  be  said,  were  repeated  and  Washtucna 
buzzed  like  a  swarm  of  bees.  The  advice  Mr.  True 
received  was  various,  but  he  paid  no  heed  to  any  ex- 
cept Mr.  Beauclerc's,  which  he  firmly  believed  to  be 
inspired. 

About  ten  o'clock  he  was  ready  to  perform  the 
solemn  ceremony  of  arresting  Jack  Snell.  He 
walked  down  Steptoe  Avenue  followed  by  Cam, 
Sandy  and  me,  and  I  confess  he  was  perfectly  calm 
and  self-possessed.  Indeed,  there  was  no  question 
but  that  Dan  True  was  courageous,  he  had  many 
opportunities  to  show  that  in  his  life  time  and  he 
never  failed.  By  what  ingenious  fabrications  Cam, 
Sandy  and  I  had  escaped  our  families  this  day  I  will 
not  recite.  They  were  triumphs  of  mendacity.  I 
doubt  if  I  could  lie  better  now  after  years  of  ob- 
servation of  certain  distinguished  gentlemen-  in  this 
Hne  whom  I  know  very  well. 

The  men  of  the  district  were  all  gathered  in  the 
street  in  the  locality  adjacent  to  the  buildings  occu- 
pied by  Jan  Havland's  saloon  and  John  Donnelly's 
store.  Saints  and  Sinners  were  there  Intermixed,  and 
in  many  cases  there  was  even  a  rough  friendliness  be- 
tween the  warring  individuals  of  opposite  sides.  Off 
to  one  side  Mr.  Beauclerc  in  his  dry,  husky  voice  was 
talking  of  the  new  church,  while  In  another  place 
Judge  Rusher  was  teetering  on  his  toes,  blowing 
smoke  and  describing  no  less  a  horse  race  than  the 
great  Derby  itself,  which  he  had  seen  In  England 
on  a  visit  made  when  he  was  a  boy.  He  had  told 
about  this  race  more  than  thirty  thousand  times.  I 
know  this  figure  is  correct,  for  he  had  told  it  for  fifty 


138  CAM  CLARKE 

years  twice  a  day.  In  the  very  centre  of  the  crowd 
was  Jack  Snell. 

Cam  and  I  were  frightened  but  we  followed  Mr. 
Dan  True.  "  We  miss  nothing,"  was  our  motto. 
As  that  gentleman  entered  the  crowd  of  two  hundred 
men,  a  lane  leading  directly  to  Jack  Snell  seemed  to 
open  up  and  to  stay  open  as  if  by  preconcert.  The 
marshal  followed  steadily  down  this  lane,  his  eye  on 
Jack  Snell,  not  deviating  to  right  or  left,  for  he  was, 
as  I  have  said,  a  brave,  determined  dolt  of  a  man. 

True  was  about  to  speak,  I  think,  when  Snell 
seemed  to  make  a  jerk  with  his  hand  towards  his 
pocket  —  and  then  with  startling  suddenness  three 
revolver  shots  came  from  Dan  True's  gun:  he  had 
shot  from  the  hip.  A  tall  man  at  the  door  of  the 
saloon,  Jim  Lent,  cried  out  sharply  and  fell  down, 
shot  in  the  breast.  Jack  Snell  was  unscathed  but  his 
gun  and  a  hundred  others  flashed  into  sight.  How- 
ever, by  the  grace  of  God  nobody  else  fired.  Then 
a  wild  roaring  murmur  arose  and  an  angry,  eddying 
motion  started.  Men  were  taking  sides  and  pres- 
ently Judge  Rusher  and  the  Sinners  were  in  Don- 
nelly's store  and  Mr.  Beauclerc  and  the  Saints  were 
out  In  front  of  it. 

In  the  meantime  no  one  paid  attention  to  the 
wounded  man  lying  at  the  door  of  Jan  Havland's 
saloon  and  finally  it  was  Cam  and  I  who  waked  up 
Doctor  Punts,  who  had  been  out  late  the  night  before 
helping  a  sick  squaw  on  Cabbage  Flat.  Punts  was 
lying  snoring,  mouth  wide  open,  in  his  hot,  dusty  lit- 
tle room  in  the  Tennessee  Hotel.  It  was  with  diffi- 
culty that  we  roused  him;  he  was  almost  exhausted 
but  he  made  haste  and  came  out  with  us  half  dressed. 


CAM  CLARKE  139 

He  knelt  over  Jim  Lent,  tried  his  pulse,  his  heart 
and  his  breathing,  cursing  every  minute.  Then  he 
stood  up  and  glanced  at  the  two  hostile  crowds,  who 
now  for  the  first  time  realised  the  existence  of  Jim 
Lent. 

**  You  damn  fools !  "  he  called  to  them  angrily  in  a 
loud  voice,  *'  ain't  the  mere  fact  of  your  bein'  alive 
a  sufficient  reproach  to  God  without  your  demon- 
strating it  more  fully  by  a-shootin'  people  in  the 
streets?  '' 

Still  anathematising  the  two  crowds  he  knelt  again, 
opened  his  leathern  case  of  instruments,  took  out  a 
scalpel,  and  deftly  slit  down  the  man's  shirt  and  ex- 
amined his  wound.  Then  he  stood  up  and  pulled  his 
long  beard  slowly  to  one  side  and  spoke  to  the  crowds 
accusingly. 

*'  He  is  dead,  gents  I  "  he  said  quietly.  "  Dead 
already.  Last  night  I  talked  with  him.  He  was  a 
stranger  here ;  he  was  alone  but  he  had  a  family  back 
in  the  States  which  he  was  hunting  a  home  for. 
Mebbe  you-all  gents  would  like  to  explain  this  here 
hospitality  to  his  wife  and  children;  mebbe  some  o' 
the  leaders  would  explain  to  'em  that  this  is  just 
Washtucna's  idea  of  sport,  that  we  don't  mean  noth- 
ing." 

There  was  a  general  uneasy  shuffling;  Washtucna 
was  ashamed  and  she  found  she  had  a  conscience. 
Immediately  all  heat  and  murderous  desire  seemed 
to  burn  away.  What  was  it  all  for?  Every  one 
seemed  suddenly  to  have  asked  himself  that  ques- 
tion; simultaneously  and  as  if  in  answer  men  came 
forward  from  both  crowds  and  helped  carry  Jim 
Lent  into  Jan  Havland's  and  lay  him  out  on  the  pool 


I40  CAM  CLARKE 

table  with  a  dust  robe  over  him.  The  saloon  was 
cleared  and  no  drinks  were  served. 

Mr.  Dan  True,  who  had  remained  as  isolated 
from  both  sides  as  the  dead  man,  seemed  now  some- 
how to  consider  that  his  duties  were  finished,  al- 
though the  arrest  had  never  been  consummated.  He 
walked  silently  home  and  whether  from  physical  ex- 
haustion, from  his  long  period  of  waking  or  from 
the  lingering  effects  of  the  liquor  he  had  drunk  that 
morning,  he  fell,  says  his  wife,  almost  instantly 
asleep.  And  nearly  every  one  followed  the  example 
he  set  in  going  home.  In  two  hours  the  town  was 
totally  silent,  seemingly  abandoned,  not  a  horse  at 
the  hitching  racks,  Jan  Havland's  doors  shut,  also 
Mr.  Donnelly's.  Amongst  the  last  to  go  had  been 
Jack  Snell. 

Next  morning  Jack  Snell  was  missing  from  the 
Palouse  Country,  but  early  risers  found  this  letter 
pinned  to  the  door  of  Jan  Havland's  saloon. 

''  Gents: 

"  While  cogitating  to-night  on  the  events  of  this 
recent  past,  I  sees  I'm  a  disturbing  element  in  this  dis- 
trict. Which  I  decline  to  be.  Seeing  that  two  gen- 
tlemen have  been  shot  on  account  of  me  I'm  decided 
that  I'll  take  part  in  a  little  emigrating  movement 
which  I've  long  had  in  view.  I  am  now,  as  a  feller 
might  say,  tightening  my  cinches  preparing  to  go.  I 
am  urged  to  this  step  in  particular  by  the  circum- 
stances of  seeing  this  prospective  citizen,  Mr.  Lent, 
shot  up,  instead  of  me,  which  is  some  loathsome  to 
me  and  unpleasant.  Of  course  this  Mr.  Lent  may 
have  been  a  rich  sport  but  I  guess  not,  so  I  hereby 


CAM  CLARKE  141 

delegate  Doc  Punts  to  draw  my  pile  from  the  bum 
safe  of  the  Tennessee  Hotel  and  distribute  it  to  this 
Mr.  Lent's  outfit  of  kids,  free  gratis,  of  course. 
Likewise  I  have  an  extra  saddle  at  Skookum  Jones's, 
which  I  bequeath  to  Mrs.  Sarah  Cameron  Clarke 
either  to  be  sold  or  kept  for  the  kid,  which  I  hope  he 
grows  up  straight  and  square.  It  cost  $85.00  in 
Taos  and  is  O.K.  Which  this  is  all  I  can  do  to  re- 
compense this  burg  for  the  inconveniences  I've  put  on 
her  by  my  quarrelsome  luck.  I  regard  this  leaving 
with  habitual  regret  as  I've  admired  to  live  here  and 
in  the  community  which  shelters  this  here  Mrs. 
Clarke  whom  I've  mentioned  favourable. 

''  Yours, 
"  John  Snell.'* 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  poet  that  guessed  *'  there's  a  divinity  that 
shapes  our  ends  '^  made  a  bull's-eye.  The 
Hirschlagers  were,  in  effect,  Cam's  divinity; 
they  were  needed  and  they  came.  I  suppose  that  for 
Cam,  next  to  his  parentage  itself,  they  were  the  most 
potent  influence  on  his  early  manhood.  It  was  they 
who  first  gave  direction  to  his  life,  who  stirred  his 
ambitions  and  his  vast  enthusiasms  and  who  put  solid 
stuff  under  him.  Cam  went  to  work  with  Hirsch- 
lager  on  the  great  Keokuk  and  St.  Louis  Railroad 
after  he  left  school,  but  it  was  in  Washtucna  that 
they  first  saw  each  other  and  formed  the  ties  that 
bound  them  until  Hirschlager's  tragic  death,  which 
is  in  every  man's  memory. 

Hirschlager  had  desired,  I  think,  to  become  what 
Cam  eventually  became.  But  he  could  never  have 
accomplished  it.  He  did  not  possess  the  inexorable 
will,  the  fervid  Imagination,  the  cool  diplomacy  or 
the  almost  devilishly  nice  understanding  of  motives 
and  things ;  nor,  indeed,  could  he  be  ruthless  enough 
even  when  ruthlessness  was  the  thing. 

Cam  and  Hirschlager  were  very  different.  Hirsch- 
lager was  large,  irregular  and  powerful  but  with  a 
certain  looseness  of  texture.  Cam's  features  were 
sharp,  clear  cut,  yet  mobile,  and  his  eyes  —  there  was 
the  mystery,  they  were  ever  changing  like  Sarah 
Clarke's  and  like  hers  they  now  glinted  fire  and  now 

142 


CAM  CLARKE  143 

were  soft  as  spring,  while  always  they  were  utterly 
unreadable. 

It  was  in  August  of  that  year  that  HIrschlager  first 
came  to  Washtucna.  He  was  then,  though  already 
mature  In  years,  only  Division  Superintendent  of  the 
Palouse  Northern  Railway.  His  remarkable  rise  In 
railroad  circles  came  later,  his  faculties  had  matured 
late.  He  was  at  that  time  making  a  journey  of  in- 
spection over  the  new  Palouse  line  in  his  private  car 
Kootenai.  He  had  come  from  Spokane  to  Wash- 
tucna over  a  fully  completed  line,  and  Washtucna 
was  gathered  together  to  greet  him  with  hilari- 
ous enthusiasm,  with  revolver  shots  and  a  barbarian 
banquet  at  the  Tennessee  Restaurant  and  Hotel. 
This  was  a  memorable  banquet  to  Washtucnans. 
Doctor  Punts,  being  a  non-partizan  and  being,  ac- 
cording to  common  judgment,  "  some  eloquent," 
was  elected  to  preside ;  which  he  did,  I  believe,  with 
vigour  and  some  dignity. 

This  banquet  was  naturally  considered  a  great 
event.  All  of  the  genteel  and  many  of  the  barbarous 
were  there.  In  short,  it  was  a  perfectly  characteris- 
tic gathering  and  it  was  Intensely  enthusiastic  and  op- 
timistic. 

But  Cam  and  I  soon  lost  interest  in  the  banquet 
and  early  left  off  peeping  in  at  the  windows,  for  there 
seemed  no  immediate  prospect  of  getting  any  of  the 
fancy  food  on  which  the  diners  regaled  themselves. 
We  decided  it  would  be  better  to  go  have  a  look  at 
the  private  car  Kootenai,  the  like  of  which  had  never 
before  come  to  Washtucna,  although  Cam  assured  me 
that  they  were  common  in  Worcester,  Massachusetts. 
We  went  accordingly  and  examined  the  Kootenai 


144  CAM  CLARKE 

with  care.  We  crawled  under  the  rods  and  over 
the  brake  beams  and  when  we  came  out  we  made 
critical  remarks.  Then  we  talked  to  Hirschlager's 
Chinese  cook  and  Cam  by  diplomacy  and  craft  got 
him  to  take  us  Into  his  kitchen.  While  we  ate  crack- 
ers and  satisfied  our  curiosity  by  examining  every- 
thing, the  Chinaman  inquired  with  a  great  deal  of  in- 
terest if  people  in  Washtucna  killed  Chinamen  fre- 
quently. We  were  able  to  assure  him  that  they 
never  Inflicted  any  but  "  the  milder  tortures,"  where- 
upon he  was  greatly  comforted.  He  then  Informed 
us  with  trepidation  that  Wardner  people  had  dis- 
tinguished themselves  by  "  kill  all  China  boys." 
Under  these  circumstances  he  was  curious  to  know 
in  how  many  other  places  people  aspired  to  the  same 
distinction.  I  told  him  not  to  worry,  that  the  peo- 
ple of  Washtucna  had  not  discovered  that  amuse- 
ment. 

We  were  about  leaving  when  a  woman's  voice 
called  from  the  magic  regions  at  the  other  end  of 
the  car,  the  regions  of  power  and  luxury  and  ineffable 
glory. 

"  Sing !  "  called  the  voice,  a  very  musical  one. 

Sing  clapped  off  in  his  slippers,  making  a  noise  like 
a  boy  walking  on  shingles.     We  waited. 

"  Leddy  say  bllng  'em  in  boy,"  said  Sing,  suddenly 
putting  his  head  In  at  the  door  of  the  tiny  kitchen. 

I  started  to  leave.  I  did  not  want  to  be  brought. 
Like  a  good  Palouser  I  wanted  to  take  to  the  bunch 
grass,  but  Cam  said  no.  I  was  terribly  embarrassed, 
not  to  say  frightened,  when  he  said  no,  for  I  saw 
that  he  meant  it.  I  did  not  know  but  that  you  ought 
to  walk  into  a  car  like  that  on  your  hands  out  of  re- 


CAM  CLARKE  145 

spect  for  It.  What  was  a  fellow  to  do  anyway? 
Cam  said,  '*  Shuh !  Mart,  you  don't  seem  to  savvy 
how  people  do  these  things ;  you  just  do  what  I  do  and 
follow  me.  I'll  show  you."  With  that  he  walked 
in  as  polite  and  self-possessed  and  as  modest  looking 
as  a  sheep  in  a  hay  stack. 

I  followed  and  I  decided  instantly  that  Mrs. 
Hirschlager  was  almost  as  agreeable  as  Sarah 
Clarke.  I  had  taken  but  one  good  look  at  her  when 
I  felt  perfectly  at  home.  She  was  very  pretty,  dark 
and  slender,  and  there  was  something  really  like 
Sarah  Clarke  about  her:  that  was  breeding,  but  I  did 
not  know  it  for  many  years.  To  me  she  just  looked 
indescribably  elegant  as  she  leaned  back  at  ease  in  a 
great  arm  chair,  gowned  in  some  soft,  rich,  but  very 
plainly  made  gown. 

**  I'm  not  very  fond  of  banquets,"  she  said  con- 
fidentially, "  and  when  we  came  into  town  I  hid,  so 
I  escaped  going.  I'm  a  regular  stowaway.  But  you 
won't  tell  Washtucna  people,  will  you?  "  And  then 
mockingly  and  coquettishly,  *'  I  suppose  you  boys  ran 
away  from  the  banquet,  too.  Sit  down  and  we'll 
have  a  party  of  our  own.  I  want  some  tea;  do 
you?" 

I  was  astonished.  I  had  supposed  tea  was  some- 
thing with  which  to  wash  down  food  so  you  could  eat 
fast.  Was  the  woman  going  to  have  a  meal?  We 
both  sat  down.     We  could  always  eat. 

**  No'm,"  said  Cam  easily,  "  we  didn't  run  away 
from  any  banquet.  This  one's  given  by  a  lot  of 
grown-up  people  in  this  town,  also  Doctor  Punts,  and 
us  kids  haven't  anything  to  do  with  it,  except  that  if 
there's  anything  left  Mr.   McPetherick,  who  runs 


146  CAM  CLARKE 

the  Tennessee  Rest'rant,  is  goin'  to  give  us  a  chance. 
So  we  hope  the  superintendent  ain't  so  very  hungry 
an'  that  he'll  leave  some  ice-cream." 

Mrs.  Hirschlager  naturally  laughed  at  the  Idea  of 
the  superintendent  being  very  hungry.  And  then 
she  exclaimed  suddenly  and  triumphantly,  **  Just 
the  thing!  I  have  it  I  Sing,  give  us  that  ice-cream 
right  now,  we  won't  wait  until  dinner.  And,  Sing, 
quick  now  I  these  boys  are  hungry." 

*'  01  light,  Missa  Hirsligger,"  said  Sing  and,  while 
you  winked,  it  came  on  and  a  little  cloth  was  spread 
on  a  folding  table  and  we  all  sat  down. 

That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  ate  ice-cream;  Cam 
said  he  had  often  eaten  it  in  Worcester,  Massachu- 
setts. But  in  spite  of  the  extra  practice  he  had  had, 
I  ate  more  than  he  did,  and  we  both  had  all  we  could 
hold.  Just  think  of  that  woman  being  smart  enough 
to  see  that  we  were  so  healthy  we  could  not  be  hurt, 
no  matter  how  much  we  ate. 

When  Mrs.  Hirschlager  heard  Worcester, 
Massachusetts,  she  was  interested.  After  a  few  mo- 
ments she  came  back  to  it. 

'*  I'm  from  Worcester,  too,"  she  said.  "  What  is 
your  name?  " 

"  Cam  Clarke,  ma'am,  and  this,"  and  he  jerked  his 
thumb  boyishly,  I  can  see  it  yet,  "  is  Mart  Campin, 
and  we're  chums,  but  he  ain't  from  Worcester, 
Mass." 

"  I'm  Mrs.  Hirschlager,"  she  responded,  bowing 
her  head  to  us  both  and  smiling,  "  and  I'm  pleased 
to  make  your  acquaintance."  And  then  she  puck- 
ered her  eyebrows.  "  You  remind  me  of  people," 
she  said,  looking  at  Cam;  but  just  then  we  had  to 


CAM  CLARKE  147 

admit  that  we  were  full  and  that  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

Mrs.  Hirschlager  asked  if  we  would  not  show 
her  the  town,  as  she  was  sure  it  was  an  interesting 
place  if  one  had  a  good  guide  to  point  things  out,  and 
she  supposed  we  would  be  excellent  guides.  We 
said  we,  too,  thought  it  was  an  interesting  place 
and  we  told  her  to  come  on.  We  were  delighted  to 
show  things  to  her  because  she  was  so  agreeable  and 
so  pretty  and  because  she  had  such  pretty  clothes  — 
and,  indeed,  for  almost  every  reason  that  we  could 
remember  we  liked  it.  Except  Sarah  Clarke,  Wash- 
tucna  had  never  seen  any  one  like  her.  We  were  as 
proud  of  her  as  Washtucna  was  of  Sarah  Clarke. 

We  showed  her  Washtucna  without  reservation, 
the  unwashed  Washtucna,  the  real  Washtucna.  First 
we  took  her  to  the  stock  yards,  which,  in  our  opinion, 
were  the  heart  of  the  place,  and  she  peeped  and  chat- 
tered like  a  bird.  Then  we  showed  her  the  place 
where  Sam  Bundy  was  killed  by  his  horse  and  the 
very  spot  on  which  old  Tom  Schlageter  was  shot  and 
the  little  plot  where  Jim  Lent  was  buried.  I  doubt 
if  any  one  else  could  have  shown  her  so  many  exact 
spots.  We  were  good  guides,  but  her  interest  in  the 
particular  spots  was,  I  suspect,  luke-warm.  She  very 
politely  praised  each  of  them,  but  there  was  no  gen- 
uine enthusiasm  in  her.  We  then,  as  a  crowning  hon- 
our, introduced  her  to  Mr.  Pete  Barker  and  to  Mr. 
Bob  Dalton,  who  were  standing  in  front  of  Jan  Hav- 
land's  saloon  smoking  brown  paper  cigarettes  and 
talking  of  Washtucna's  future.  These  gentlemen 
were  greatly  surprised  at  having  her  brought  up  and  I 
believe   they  were   somewhat  embarrassed.     They 


148  CAM  CLARKE 

had  stayed  away  from  the  banquet,  they  said,  because 
Mr.  McPetherick  "  couldn't  find  enough  dishes  in 
the  Tennessee  RestVant  to  feed  the  multitude."  We 
explained  to  them  what  we  were  doing  and  what  we 
had  already  done,  and  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  immediately 
spoke  up  in  indignation. 

*'  Why,  you-all  boys  ain't  got  as  much  sense  as  any 
frozen  eared  cayuse  when  a  dog  barks  at  him.  Why, 
the  only  shows  in  this  yere  town  that's  wuth  seein'  air 
Mrs.  Clarke  and  Doc  Punts,  an'  Punts  is  workin' 
and  can't  be  seen,  bein'  toast-master.  But  you-all 
boys  take  this  lady  to  see  Mrs.  Clarke  at  onct  and 
don't  be  chivying  around  the  edges  of  things  any 
more.     Now,  vamoose!  —  or,  wait  —  I'll  go  too." 

At  this  moment  it  became  evident  that  the  ban- 
quet was  breaking  up.  There  were  cheers  inside 
and  then  little  Skookum  Jones  and  big  Mr.  Hirsch- 
lager  appeared  at  the  door,  arm  in  arm,  engaged  in 
confidential  conversation.  Mr.  Skookum  was  in- 
forming the  superintendent  in  strict  secrecy  that  the 
Palouse  Country  was  rich  and  always  would  be  rich. 
Just  behind  were  John  Bradford  and  Punts,  then  the 
rest  in  a  wild  crowd. 

Mr.  Hirschlager  extracted  himself  and  came  di- 
rectly over  to  his  wife.  She  took  hold  of  him  in  a 
manner  that  showed  that  she  was  entirely  mistress  of 
him  and  dragged  him  off  to  take  Mr.  Bob  Dalton's 
advice  and  call  on  Mrs.  Clarke.  This  was  a  splen- 
did stroke  of  policy,  had  Mr.  Hirschlager  but  known 
it.  Washtucna  would  have  elected  him  President 
after  that;  for  in  its  simple  mind  Washtucna  still 
fancied  that  all  the  enterprises  of  married  people 
were  undertaken  on  the  initiative  of  husbands. 


CAM  CLARKE  149 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  an  hour  ago  to  see  your 
mother,"  said  Mrs.  Hirschlager  as  we  walked  along. 
*'  You  remind  me  of  things  dreadfully.  You  see, 
dear,"  she  spoke  to  her  husband,  "  Cam  here  is 
from  Worcester  and  you  remember  Sarah  Cam- 
eron — '' 

*'  That's  my  mother,"  said  Cam.  "  Sarah  Cam- 
eron Clarke." 

"  I  knew  she  came  west,"  Mrs.  Hirschlager  chir- 
ruped, lengthening  her  pace  eagerly. 

Sarah  Clarke's  little  place  looked  quite  wonderful 
as  we  approached  it.  The  ground  about  it  had 
somehow  spontaneously  burst  into  blossom  in  strange 
contrast  to  the  surrounding  yellow  hillsides  and  the 
house  itself  looked  beautifully  homelike. 

"  What  a  dear  place  I  "  cried  Mrs.  Hirschlager* 
eagerly.  "And  how  clean  and  cool  and  airy  I" 
And  then  we  were  arrived  and  Sarah  Clarke  was 
standing  in  the  door  with  a  questioning,  eager  ex- 
pression on  her  face. 

Never  was  Sarah  Clarke  more  delicately  beauti- 
ful. Some  shadows  of  colour  had  been  driven  to 
her  thin,  almost  transparent  cheeks  by  excitement  and 
she  looked  at  Mrs.  Hirschlager  with  a  curious  intent- 
ness  in  which  recognition  and  gladness  were  a  part. 

"  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke,  her  low,  clear  voice 
rather  choked  with  feelings,  "  that  you  are  Fanny 
Neville  and  that  I  am  Sally  Cameron,"  and  she  held 
out  both  her  arms. 

Mrs.  Hirschlager  grasped  her  tight  and  they  both 
cried  a  little  for  pleasure.  And  when  any  of  us  had 
time  to  look  around,  Mr.  John  Bradford,  Mr. 
Skookum  Jones  and  Doc  Punts  were  amongst  us. 


150  CAM  CLARKE 

Jones  was  wiping  his  eyes,  Bradford  was  making  a 
joke  and  Punts  was  pulling  his  beard. 

Then  the  ladies  walked  up  and  down  outside, 
arm  about  waist,  and  talked  for  a  long  time,  while 
Mr.  Hirschlager,  Bradford,  Jones  and  Punts  smoked 
inside  and  played  solo  and  Cam  and  I  played  jack- 
stones. 

That  night  we  all  had  dinner  on  the  car  Kootenai 
with  the  Hirschlagers.  They  had  made  me  promise 
to  come,  too,  out  of  sheer  kindness  of  heart  and  I  had 
spent  most  of  the  afternoon  in  washing  and  scrub- 
bing myself  under  the  personal  directions  of  my 
father,  who  took  time  off  from  his  bench  for  this  pur- 
pose. The  little  man  was  greatly  excited  by  the 
honours  I  had  received.  "  'Tis  not  a  Campin  will 
iver  disgrace  'em  afther  such  ginirosity  and  civility; 
no,  sor !  "  And  he  gave  me  such  extra  rubs  that  in 
places  I  believe  he  removed  the  skin  as  well  as  the 
dirt.  Cleanliness  was  to  his  mind  more  a  mark  of 
respect,  a  dress  uniform,  as  it  were,  than  a  good 
habit. 

When  Cam  saw  me,  he  said  I  shone  like  the  ball 
on  the  new  flagstaff,  which  embarrassed  me  with 
the  fear  that  I  was  too  clean.  Still,  I  reflected  that 
I  could  easily  correct  that.  But  Sarah  Clarke  and 
Mrs.  Hirschlager  kissed  me,  which  further  embar- 
rassed me,  but  which  also  reassured  and  delighted 
me  and  made  me  glad  I  was  scrubbed. 

We  sat  down  to  dinner,  I  in  considerable  pertur- 
bation, but  not  so  either  Sarah  Clarke  or  Cam. 
Those  two  looked  out  of  their  beautiful  mottled  eyes 
as  calmly  as  if  they  had  been  eating  bacon  from  tin 
plates.     They  seemed  to  be  the  sort  of  people  who 


CAM  CLARKE  151 

feel  and  act  the  same  before  kings  as  before  beggars. 
To  me  it  was  the  most  wonderful  meal  of  which  I 
ever  partook.  It  was  as  full  of  sensations  as  being 
in  love.  I  would  give  five  hundred  sheep  now  for 
such  a  dinner;  but  such  a  one  cannot  be  purchased 
for  me  again,  I  have  too  good  food  at  home.  The 
dishes  seemed  so  fragile  that  I  was  afraid  almost 
to  touch  them.  There  were  mushrooms — ^  think 
of  such  a  fantastically  luxurious  dish  I  And  the 
grown-ups  of  the  party  drank  a  beautiful  sparkling 
wine  from  France  —  it  would  have  astonished  me 
considerably  less  to  have  discovered  that  it  was  from 
Heaven ;  for  I  had  heard  that  place  mentioned  much 
more  frequently  than  France  and  I  had  no  doubt  that 
Heaven  would  be  easier  to  reach. 

"  Mrs.  Clarke/'  said  Mr.  Hirschlager,  just  before 
we  left,  and  he  took  Mrs.  Clarke's  hands  in  both 
his,  "  Fanny  says  you  must  come  see  us  in  Spokane 
very  soon  and  so  do  I.  We  are  leaving  to-night  at 
midnight.  We'll  see  you  before  the  visit  —  every 
time  we  go  through  —  but  if  between  times  anything 
isn't  just  right,  you^ll  tell  us  at  once,  now  won't 
you  ?  —  So  we  hope  we'll  see  you  often  —  and 
Cam,  too. 

"  You  understand  that,  too,  do  you,  young  man?  " 
asked  Mr.  Hirschlager  with  large  joviality  of  Cam. 

''  Yes,  sir." 

All  of  which  foregoing  incidents  became  of  vast 
importance  to  Cam;  became,  indeed,  the  very  stuff 
of  which  his  life  was  woven. 

As  we  left  them,  the  Hirschlagers  were  still  speak- 
ing importunate  invitations  —  to  me  also,  which  I 
never  can  forget. 


152  CAM  CLARKE 

That  night  that  distinguished  coterie  of  Mrs. 
Clarke's  admirers,  Doc  Punts,  John  Bradford  and 
Mr.  Skookum  Jones,  all  escorted  Mrs.  Clarke  home. 
As  usual,  however,  on  such  occasions,  it  was  John 
Bradford  and  Mrs.  Clarke  who  walked  side  by  side 
talking  intimately,  while  Punts  and  Skookum  Jones 
walked  together  behind.  They  were  all  three  suit- 
ors of  Sarah  Clarke's,  that  had  long  since  become 
evident.  However,  Jones  and  Punts  seemed  early 
to  recognise  that  John  Bradford  was  a  more  suitable 
person  than  either  of  themselves;  they  had  their 
claims  too  but  they  would  let  his  be  adjudicated  first. 
They  liked  John  Bradford,  and  I  suppose  they  took 
a  fatherly  Interest  In  those  two  younger  people  while 
they  continued  largely  enamoured  of  the  lady  them- 
selves. One,  I  believe,  can  be  enamoured  of  a 
woman  without  expecting  to  marry  her  and  one  even 
can  smother  the  desire  to  murder  his  rivals. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  the  last  part  of  that  summer's  school  vacation, 
Sim  Horlacker,  whose  father  was  the  editor 
of  The  Washtucna  Sun,  came  down  to  Wash- 
tucna  with  his  mother  to  join  Mr.  Horlacker,  who 
by  this  time  considered  himself  a  permanent  inhab- 
itant. Being  shot  in  the  stomach  made  him  feel  at 
home.  Sim  was  one  of  the  liveliest  boys  who  ever 
came  to  Washtucna,  but  he  did  not  put  Cam  in  eclipse 
although  he  gave  him  a  run  for  his  money.  Sim  was 
a  sport,  a  "  nacherl-born  "  sport.  He  wore  long 
trousers  two  years  too  soon  and  when  he  arrived  in 
Washtucna  he  already  had  a  vest  with  only  room  on 
it  for  three  buttons.  This  he  wore  on  Sundays  over 
a  "  bald-faced  "  shirt  and  the  effect  was  a  consider- 
able diminution  in  Mr.  Pete  Barker's  reputation  as  a 
dandy.  If  a  boy,  people  said,  can  show  him  up, 
what  could  a  man  do  if  he  tried?  Mr.  John  Brad- 
ford, however,  remained  on  a  pinnacle  of  perfection 
for  correct  dress.  No  one  even  competed  with  him, 
so  people  affected  in  this  respect  to  despise  his  ac- 
coutrements. 

Within  two  days  after  Sim  arrived  he  was  out  fool- 
ing with  Cam,  courting  a  fight,  and  that  after  Sandy 
and  I  had  solemnly  warned  him  that  Cam  could 
"  lick  "  any  boy  in  this  town  or  in  any  town  any 
place.  It  was  evident  that  Sim  believed  we  were 
mistaken,  that  he  was  the  exception  himself,  and  he 

153 


154  (^AM  CLARKE 

at  least  was  determined  to  demand  an  irrefutable 
demonstration. 

Now  Cam  really  was  peaceable  by  nature,  but  I 
knew  that  if  Sim  kept  fooling  with  him  long  enough 
those  mottled  eyes  would  take  fire  and  Cam  would 
burn  up  with  fighting  zeal.  Cam  took  everything  he 
could  without  resentment,  but  when  Sim  tied  hard 
knots  in  Cam's  shirt  while  we  were  in  swimming. 
Cam  decided  there  would  be  no  more.  He  arose  in 
wrath. 

Cam  did  not  say  anything  even  then,  he  never  did 
on  such  occasions,  he  just  went  up  to  Sim  and 
slammed  his  little  hard  fist  at  Sim's  jaw.  Sim  did 
not  say  anything  either,  he  also  was  a  meagre  talker, 
he  just  hit  back.  They  clinched  and  broke  and  wres- 
tled silently  and  fiercely  for  about  half  an  hour  on 
the  edge  of  the  swimming  hole.  It  was  awesome  to 
the  rest  of  us,  no  other  Washtucna  boys  fought  that 
way.  Other  boys  prepared  their  courage  by  talking, 
boasting  and  lying,  just  as  Sandy  did,  and  in  battle 
they  stimulated  their  rage  with  tears.  But  Cam  and 
Sim  did  not,  they  just  buckled  down  to  business  and 
stayed  there,  like  two  bull  terriers,  their  little  naked 
bodies  threshing  back  and  forth  and  perspiring  and 
panting.  We  were  appalled  by  it,  yet  it  was  very 
entertaining. 

There  never  was  any  end  to  that  fight,  for  we 
pulled  them  apart,  tucked  our  clothes  under  our  re- 
spective arms  and  ran  for  the  brush.  We  had  seen 
approaching  old  Mr.  Lafiere,  the  French  market 
gardener,  who  was  coming  down  to  drive  us  out  of 
his  pond  with  a  blacksnake.  He  was  saving  that 
pond,  it  appeared,  for  a  personal  trout  pool,  and 


CAM  CLARKE  155 

swimming  stirred  up  the  mud  and  drove  the  trout 
out.  I  now  sympathise  with  him  but  he  made  a  mis- 
take. A  personal  trout  pool  in  a  good  location  for 
swimming  is  "  agin  nature,"  it  is  no  use  to  try  for 
it;  you  might  as  well  try  to  raise  palm  trees  in  an 
ice-house. 

The  quarrel  between  Cam  and  Sim  seemed  to 
temporarily  die.  Cam  and  Sim  ignored  each  other 
but  some  of  Cam's  henchmen  went  over  to  Sim. 

A  few  days  later,  while  Cam  and  I  were  fishing  on 
Pine  Creek,  some  of  the  boys  left  in  Washtucna  de- 
cided it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  start  a  secret  so- 
ciety or  a  lodge.  Sandy  was  one  of  them.  Sim  was 
not.  Sandy  at  once  organised  the  I.O.D.P.,  which 
means  the  Independent  Order  of  Dirty  Paws.  Cam 
and  I  ignored  the  lodge  and  every  day  for  a  week  we 
went  fishing  and  pretended  there  was  no  lodge.  The 
lodge  did  not  prosper  very  much  because  Cam  was 
not  in  it.  Nothing  prospered  without  Cam  in  those 
days  —  that  is,  except  Sim  Horlacker;  he  got  along 
pretty  well  for  a  while. 

Now  it  happened  that  absolutely  all  the  boys  in 
Sandy's  lodge  were  sons  of  Sinners.  That  was  Sim 
Horlacker's  chance.  He  organised  a  lodge  amongst 
the  Saints  boys  and  got  himself  elected  "  Most  High 
Flat-headed  Royal  King."  Julie  Beauclerc  wanted 
Cam  and  me  to  join  it  because,  of  course,  her  father 
was  a  Saint  and  so  was  she.  And  she  was  an 
honourary  member  of  Sim's  lodge  herself. 

Well,  we  would  not  join  Sim's  lodge  even  for 
Julie,  because  we  were  enemies  to  Sim  and  he  held 
all  the  offices.  Julie  then  got  angry  and  said  Sim 
was  "  real  nice,"  much  nicer  than  Cam  ever  had  been. 


156  CAM  CLARKE 

Then  Sim  started  playing  with  Julie  a  lot  and  finally 
Julie  said  to  me  that  she  never  had  liked  Cam  Clarke 
anyway  and  she  wished  he  would  not  come  around, 
and  the  same  to  me,  only  more  of  them. 

I  told  Julie  she  was  lying  about  Sim  being  nicer 
than  Cam,  which  Cam  said  was  correct  but  not  poUte 
and  I  must  not  say  it  again,  to  which  I  agreed,  as.  I 
said  Julie  was  so  smart  you  need  not  tell  her  any- 
thing twice  and  she  already  had  my  message.  Cam 
was  hurt  by  what  Julie  had  said.  He  had  intended 
staying  out  of  these  lodges  entirely,  as  he  was  neither 
Saint  nor  Sinner,  but  now  he  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
into  Sandy's  lodge  and  be  elected  First  High  Royal 
President  of  the  I.O.D.P.  himself.  I  told  Sandy 
how  Cam  felt  and  of  course  he  said  come  right  in, 
that  he  had  always  wanted  Cam  for  president  any- 
way.    That's  what  a  boy  like  Sandy  would  say. 

We  came  into  the  lodge  and  at  the  first  meeting 
Cam  called  a  council  of  war,  which  declared  war  on 
Sim  Horlacker's  lodge,  and  then  we  decided  to  have 
a  cave  as  a  stronghold.  The  best  cave  we  could  find 
was  an  old  coyote  den  up  on  Granite  Hill,  so  we  took 
that.  It  smelled  rotten  and  we  never  went  in  except 
to  explore,  but  it  made  good  headquarters. 

We  had  battles  every  day  for  a  week  with  Sim 
Horlacker's  gang,  using  slings  and  darts  and  stones 
but  nobody  got  killed,  which  is  a  miracle.  But  mira- 
cles are  so  common  that  we  think  there  are  none. 
In  the  last  fight  we  captured  the  M.H.F.R.K.,  which 
was  Sim,  and  dispersed  his  forces  and  made  him  take 
the  oath  of  allegiance.  Everybody  agreed  that  Sim 
was  licked. 

But  just  next  day  Sim  appeared  again  as  strong 


CAM  CLARKE  157 

as  ever.  Cam  was  disgusted.  '*  What's  the  use?  " 
he  said.  *'  The  dum  fool  won't  stay  licked.  I  ain't 
goin'  to  fight  in  wars  if  people  won't  stay  licked. 
Let  'em  war  with  themselves." 

The  I.O.D.P.  agreed  with  Cam.  But  Cam  later 
In  life  got  a  fondness  for  unbeatable  people.  He 
used  to  go  around  hunting  for  people  who  did  not 
know  they  were  licked,  only  he  always  tried  to  have 
them  on  his  side  and,  indeed,  he  has  been  known  to 
change  sides  just  to  have  this  advantage.  To  such 
ones  he  gave  away  principalities  in  all  but  name. 

By  way  of  enterprise  and  amusement  Cam  pro- 
posed that  the  lodge  should  quit  war  and  engage  in 
the  ancient,  romantic  and  dignified  practice  of  rob- 
bery. He  thought  the  robbery  business  very  prom- 
ising as  there  were  water-melons  ripening  every  day. 
The  members  of  the  lodge  were  all  sons  of  nomi- 
nally Christian  families,  but  I  am  proud  to  relate 
that  no  weak-kneed  respect  for  private  property  ap- 
peared. Every  one  of  us  was  enthusiastic  for  the 
new  enterprises.     Hurrah  for  robbery ! 

We  started  operations  at  once.  One  by  one  we 
fore-gathered  fearfully  about  midnight  at  the  end 
of  the  depot  and  then  silently  made  our  way  south 
and  entered  the  field  of  Mr.  Lafiere,  the  market 
gardener.  We  arrived  at  an  unfortunate  moment: 
that  old  gentleman  was  for  some  reason  prowling 
around  his  field  with  a  shot  gun  loaded  with  salt, 
which  instrument  he  fired  at  us.  Happily  the  range 
was  long,  but  I  got  a  sprinkling  of  it  in  such  a  region 
that  had  I  been  a  bird  I  had  been  afterwards  easily 
caught.  Cam  and  Sandy  got  some  too  and  it  stung 
so  sharply  that  when  we  three  crawled  into  bed  in 


158  CAM  CLARKE 

Rusher's  hay  mow  we  could  not  sleep,  at  least  not 
until  daylight.  We  just  squirmed  and  talked  and 
listened  to  the  horses  chew  and  stamp  and  wondered 
how  long  it  would  be  before  we  could  sit  down  again. 

Long  afterwards  I  told  Mr.  Lafiere  to  whom  he 
was  indebted  for  the  pleasure  of  that  midnight  gun 
practice  and  asrhe  considered  the  idea  of  Cam  Clarke, 
who  had  long  since  become  famous  or  infamous  —  at 
any  rate  had  become  an  international  figure  —  dodg- 
ing salt  from  his  shot  gun,  he  fell  into  loud  roars 
of  laughter.  But  we  did  not  laugh  much  at  the 
time,  as  I  explained  to  Mr.  Lafiere.  He,  however, 
was  unsympathetic. 

In  the  morning  we  all  went  down  to  Sarah 
Clarke's  for  breakfast,  as  the  conversation  at  the 
Rushers'  would  not  be  delicate  enough  for  our  jang- 
ling nerves  and,  besides,  they  were  a  suspicious  lot. 
However,  as  soon  as  we  arrived  in  the  house  even 
Sarah  Clarke  saw  that  things  were  twisted  some- 
where —  perhaps  she  got  the  idea  from  the  conserva- 
tive way  in  which  we  sat  down  on  a  chair,  I  don't 
know.  At  any  rate,  in  two  minutes  she  had  all  three 
of  us  telling  her  what  we  had  each  vowed  to  keep 
secret  forever  and  I  do  not  know  how  that  was  done 
either.  We  promised  never  to  do  it  again,  which 
was  a  promise  we  made  joyfully,  as  we  had  no  desire 
whatever  to  be  shot  with  salt  again.  But  we  can 
scarcely  be  said  to  have  permanently  given  up  hope 
of  some  day  stealing  a  melon.  Mrs.  Clarke  prob- 
ably realised  that. 

We  were  discouraged  temporarily  with  robbing 
and  Cam  said  we  better  quit  it,  as  to  keep  on  would 
be  to  do  what  Mr.  Pete  Barker  called  "  forcing 


CAM  CLARKE  159 

your  luck,"  *'  which,  as  every  card-sharp  knows,  ain't 
a  good  thing  to  do."  Besides,  if  people  were  going 
to  stand  around  with  shot  guns  loaded  with  salt  all 
night,  they  need  not  expect  him  to  do  their  robbing. 
No,  sir!     They  would  have  to  get  somebody  else. 

This  sounded  convincing;  we  gave  up  robbery  and 
for  two  days  we  did  almost  nothing  but  watch  Mr. 
Hoefner  shoe  horses.  We  would  have  kept  this  up 
but  Mr.  Hoefner  suggested  that  we  watch  somebody 
else  for  a  day  or  two,  as  he  was  tired  showing  off. 
He  made  this  remark  in  such  a  tone  of  voice  as  con- 
vinced us  he  was  very  earnest,  so  we  left  him  alone. 
A  boy  could  get  but  little  encouragement  to  virtue 
in  that  town.  Still,  I  suppose  we  ought  not  to  have 
tickled  the  horses  in  the  flanks,  it  might  have  hurt 
Mr.  Hoefner  when  they  kicked  instead  of  just  knock- 
ing him  down. 

For  one  day  we  were  bored.  It  was  the  regular 
day  to  go  up  to  Beauclerc's  pretending  we  were  Sioux 
and  massacre  Julie,  but  we  could  not  go  now  and 
Cam  got  too  melancholic  for  anything.  He  wanted 
to  know  if  I  thought  Sim  was  massacring  Julie  and 
altogether  was  really  morbid  in  his  thoughts.  Along 
in  the  afternoon  we  just  lay  down  in  the  shade  of  the 
new  lumber  warehouse  and  went  sadly  to  sleep. 
Cam  woke  us  up. 

"  Kids,"  he  said,  *'  I  got  a  new  scheme.  Now  you 
fellers  meet  me  down  here  to-night  at  ten  —  you 
just  sneak  out  after  everybody  is  asleep  and  FU  be 
here." 

His  idea  was  to  keep  secret  until  night  what  we 
were  to  do,  but  of  course  he  could  not.  He  finally 
told  Sandy  and  me  what  the  plan  was.     We  were  to 


i6o  CAM  CLARKE 

"  tick-tack  "  the  laundry  of  Mr.  Won  Gee,  a  dwarf 
Chinaman,  who  had  just  moved  into  town.  Sandy 
and  I  did  not  know  what  a  "  tick-tack  "  was,  but  Cam 
vindicated  the  higher  civilization  of  Worcester, 
Massachusetts,  by  showing  us.  Worcester,  Massa- 
chusetts, we  decided,  must  be  the  last  word  in  civiliza- 
tion. 

Washtucna  had  some  advantages,  however,  for 
boys.  One  was  that  people  went  to  bed  so  early 
that  a  boy  did  not  need  to  stay  awake  all  night  before 
he  sneaked  out.  Think  of  a  boy  in  New  York  wait- 
ing for  his  parents  to  go  to  bed  before  he  went  down 
the  fire-escape  !  It  could  not  be  done :  boy  nature  is 
not  equal  to  it.  One  would  fall  asleep  while  he 
waited. 

We  met  at  the  lumber  yard  at  ten  and  tried  our 
apparatus.  It  consisted  of  a  kite  string  tied  to  a  fish 
hook  and  a  piece  of  rosin.  We  stuck  the  fish  hook 
in  the  side  of  the  lumber  shed,  then  Cam  went  off  to 
the  end  of  the  string  and  pulled  it  taut  and  rubbed 
the  rosin  on  it.  Sandy  and  I  heard  a  sound  like  that 
of  a  tremendously  discordant,  distant  fiddle.  It  was 
splendid  and  we  told  Cam  so.  He  asked  if  it 
sounded  like  a  snoring  sea-lion.  We  could  not  re- 
member. He  said  that  he  was  glad  it  did,  because 
he  liked  sea-lions  and  Chinamen  were  "  skeert  of 
'em."  After  that  he  discoursed  for  some  moments 
on  the  psychology  of  the  "  heathen  Chinee." 

We  were  now  satisfied  that  our  machinery  was 
working,  so  we  went  up  like  shadows  and  hooked 
the  fish  hook  to  the  side  of  Mr.  Won  Gee's  house 
just  under  the  window,  and  retreated  to  an  obscure 
position  behind  a  pile  of  lumber,  which  had  been 


CAM  CLARKE  r6i 

assembled  for  building  a  new  saloon,  the  same  being 
badly  needed,  as  Washtucna  had  by  this  time  only 
nine  saloons,  which  were  evidently  too  few.  Then 
we  rubbed  away. 

We  got  no  result.     Could  they  be  dead  inside? 

"  I  guess  the  hook  has  come  out,"  whispered  Cam; 
"  come  on.  Mart,  le's  see  if  it  is.  You  wait,  Sandy; 
we'll  fix  it." 

I  was  not  very  enthusiastic,  but  I  went.  We 
crawled  up  in  the  bright  moonlight,  stopping  fre- 
quently to  listen,  but  we  did  not  hear  a  sound  until 
we  were  right  under  the  window  —  when,  slam !  the 
window  banged  open  and  the  little  dwarf  Chinaman, 
Won  Gee,  the  boss  human  clothes  sprinkler  of  the 
world,  landed  right  between  us,  waving  what  seemed 
to  us  to  be  a  knife  as  long  as  a  man's  leg.  As  he 
landed  he  was  screaming  and  roaring  like  a  spoiled 
stallion,  and  he  looked  earnest. 

Not,  however,  that  we  looked  at  Won  Gee  very 
long  on  that  occasion.  We  ran,  just  melting  with 
fear,  without  any  more  idea  where  to  run  than  a 
rabbit.  But  the  Chinaman  was  fast,  he  kept  pretty 
close  behind,  yelling  like  a  flock  of  fiends.  He  was 
worse  than  coyotes.  He  should  have  been  chained 
up  some  place  for  use  as  a  fire  alarm. 

The  next  thing  I  remember  was  that  I  dashed 
headforemost  into  Mr.  Pete  Barker,  as  that  elegant 
gentleman  was  taking  a  solitary  stroll  and  smoking 
his  evening  cigar. 

Mr.  Barker  was  not  surprised;  it  was  his  business 
to  remain  unsurprised  on  all  occasions  and  he  knew 
his  business.  He  very  skilfully  gathered  Cam  and 
Sandy  and  me  simultaneously  into  his  grip  of  steel 


1 62  CAM  CLARKE 

and  inquired  mildly  what  was  the  matter  with  us 
"  little  devils." 

Mr.  Barker's  answer  was  atop  of  him,  we  had  no 
need  to  speak  It.  Little  Won  Gee,  still  howling  in 
rage,  arrived,  and  he  was  self-explanatory.  When 
we  saw  his  knife  gleam  in  the  moonlight  we  squirmed 
to  get  away.  Mr.  Barker  at  once  released  us  and 
paused  in  what  I  believe  was  genuine  astonishment, 
or  some  similar  emotion.  This  emotion,  whatever  it 
was,  cleared  the  way  for  burning  indignation.  Mr. 
Barker  rushed  at  that  poor  little  Won  Gee  with  all 
of  his  two  hundred  pounds  afire  with  anger.  He 
struck  the  knife  hand,  and  the  knife  flew  a  hundred 
feet,  and  then  Won  Gee  was  felled  by  the  equivalent 
of  a  ton  of  brick,  namely,  Mr.  Barker's  right  hand, 
and  then  he  was  kicked  several  times  by  a  falling 
tree.  Nevertheless,  Won  Gee  got  up  and  retreated, 
now  screaming  as  loudly  with  fright  as  formerly  with 
indignation.  He  took  refuge  in  the  laundry,  whither 
Mr.  Pete  Barker  presently  followed.  I  am  in- 
formed that  the  occupants  left  by  the  back  door  and 
that  in  the  laundry  Mr.  Pete  Barker  did  nothing  more 
violent  than  to  lay  the  knife  on  the  ironing  table  and 
depart. 

But  Mr.  Barker's  wrath  was  not  appeased;  I  un- 
derstand that  at  Jan  Havland's  he  seriously  proposed 
lynching  every  Oriental  in  town.  But  more  moder- 
ate counsel  prevailed.  And  we  boys  all  sneaked 
home  to  bed  with  chattering  teeth. 

Next  day  the  word  of  the  whole  transaction  went 
the  rounds  and  we  boys  got  a  good  deal  of  blame 
from  our  parents.  Cam,  indeed,  went  with  his 
mother  and  apologised  to  both  Won  Gee  and  his 


CAM  CLARKE  163 

partner,  Ah  Toy,  and  they  all  parted  excellent 
friends;  and  then  Mrs.  Clarke  sent  a  note  of  thanks 
to  Mr.  Pete  Barker.  This  shows  how  little  she 
cared  for  logic  —  that  she  could  simultaneously  make 
friendly  overtures  to  both  sides.  Mrs.  Clarke 
thereby  showed  the  superiority  of  her  sex.  A  man 
may  not  act  logically,  but  he  thinks  he  ought  to;  a 
woman  does  not  care  a  rap  about  logic. 

Mr.  Pete  Barker's  wrath,  however,  continued.  I 
heard  him  say  to  Judge  Rusher,  **  Why,  Judge,  I 
don't  comprehend  exactly  why  you  should  defend 
these  here  Chinese  heathens.  What  I'm  desiring  to 
know  is  whether  Caucasian  boys  are  goin'  to  be  mur- 
dered in  the  streets  of  this  municipality  unrebuked. 
I  protest.  Judge.  It  won't  do.  Why,  those  young 
chaps  are  scared  yet.  The  natural  amusements  of 
innocent  childhood  are  being  infringed.  I  ain't  no 
father  as  I  know  of,  but  I'm  public  spirited." 

'*  Pete,"  said  Judge  Rusher,  "  you're  in  wrong. 
If  you  had  a  boy  in  your  family  you'd  understand  just 
exactly  why  this  Chink  busted  loose  last  night.  Why, 
Pete,  I'm  often  in  danger  of  killing  a  few  boys  my- 
self, including  my  own,  and  if  I  was  an  Oriental  I'd 
do  it.  I  tell  you  it  requires  a  heap  of  forbearance 
to  let  a  boy  stay  on  alive  until  he  gets  sense.  Yes, 
sir  I  my  sympathy  in  this  case  is  with  the  heathen 
Chinee;  there  ain't  no  virtue  whichever  in  the  boys 
of  this  town.  An',  for  that  matter,  they'll  probably 
grow  up  to  be  men  as  cantankerous  as  you  and  me. 
And  if  the  heathen  can  save  us  from  that,  let  him,  I 
say  —  yes,  sir  I  " 

Mr.  Pete  Barker  could  not  understand  and  there- 
after,  like   so  many  bachelors,   he   commenced  to 


i64  CAM  CLARKE 

lament  the  tendencies  of  modern  parenthood,  the 
lack  of  understanding  and  lack  of  friendship  in  the 
relation.  His  idea  was,  I  believe,  that  every  married 
man  should  have  thirteen  children,  each  one  reared 
on  original  principles.  If  a  boy  ever  wanted  to  go 
"  tick-tack "  a  Chinaman,  the  parent  should  help, 
and  then  lynch  the  Chinaman  afterwards  if  he  got 
noisy.  Now  this  latter  step  would,  I  conceive,  have 
been  a  great  mistake  in  the  West.  If  the  Chinamen 
all  had  been  lynched,  boys  might  have  had  to  stone 
their  own  mothers,  which  is  impracticable.  It  was 
wiser  to  spare  the  Chinamen.  The  Caucasian  race 
has  again  vindicated  its  wisdom. 

All  of  us  boys  shortly  became  reconciled  with  Won 
Gee's  whole  establishment.  We  gave  Ah  Toy  a 
kitten,  which  we  borrowed  from  Mr.  Billy  Carroll, 
and  He  gave  us  five  lichi  nuts  apiece  and  carried  to 
Sarah  Clarke  some  candy  that  she  could  not  eat, 
though  she  tried.  But  Cam  and  I  could.  We  could 
eat  anything.  To  be  true,  Mr.  Billy  Carroll  tore  up 
the  furniture  of  the  laundry  when  he  found  his  kit- 
ten under  Won  Gee's  ironing  board;  but  the  Chinese 
attributed  this  act  to  natural  violence,  and  in  their 
ignorance  of  English  never  guessed  where  the  cat 
came  from. 

Of  course  our  adventure  became  a  subject  for 
argument  and  abuse  by  the  two  Washtucna  papers. 
The  Sun  arraigned  "  that  unnatural  parent  Judge 
R ,  who  would  feed  his  own  child  to  the  murder- 
ous hunger  of  the  unconverted  savage  heathen 
Chinee ;  yes,  and  would  also  sacrifice  other  people's 
children,  who,  by  heredity  and  parental  example,  were 
less  likely  to  be  criminals  than  his  own  wild  progeny." 


CAM  CLARKE  165 

The  Breeze^  on  the  contrary,  considered  Judge 
Rusher's  words  to  be  worthy  a  Roman  father  of  the 
"  heroic  age."  "  There  is  something  sublime,"  said 
the  editorial,  "  in  such  a  sense  of  justice.  One  in- 
stinctively removes  his  hat.  One  seldom  sees  it  in 
these  degenerate  days,  but  it  is  admirable.  Emulate 
him,  parents,  emulate  him !  " 

This  discussion  was  continued  in  rising  pitch  until 
the  comments  became  entirely  personal  abuse  between 
the  editors;  whereupon  other  subjects  were  taken  up, 
and  these  in  turn  also  drifted  into  the  channels  of 
personal  abuse. 

I  was  proud  of  my  part  In  the  whole  transaction 
until  one  evening,  somewhat  later,  I  heard  those  fast 
friends,  Doc  Punts  and  John  Bradford,  who  had 
evidently  been  discussing  the  affair,  deliver  their  final 
opinion  In  that  matter.  They  were  sitting  on  the 
veranda  of  the  Tennessee  Restaurant,  watching  the 
colours  fade  in  the  west,  and  listening  to  the  mechani- 
cal orchestra  in  Jan  Havland's,  the  same  which  had 
cost  three  thousand  dollars  second  hand  in  Spokane. 

"  Boys  are  unruly  damn  little  fool  cusses  and  awful 
unfair,"  said  Punts  in  staccato.     Bradford  agreed. 

"  But  a  person  naturally  likes  them,"  added  Brad- 
ford, after  some  thought. 

"  Oh,  yes  —  sometimes  I  wish  I  had  several  my- 
self," agreed  Punts;  whereupon  a  coyote  howled  and 
I  felt  better.  And  that,  by  the  way,  was  the  last  coy- 
ote I  ever  heard  howl  in  Washtucna.  Human  beings 
were  crowding  them  out. 

Later  that  evening  Mr.  Bradford  would  either 
drop  in  alone  for  a  half  hour  with  Sarah  Clarke  or 
he  would  be  joined  by  his  friends  Punts  and  Skookum 


1 66  CAM  CLARKE 

Jones  and  they  would  execute  a  joint  call.  That  was 
routine.  And  always  Sarah  Clarke  was  sewing. 
The  conversation  turned  usually  upon  land,  cattle 
and  various  happenings  in  Montana,  Colorado  and 
New  Mexico,  preferably  upon  shooting  scrapes  and 
extraordinary  adventures.  Some  of  the  talk  was  tall. 
But  occasionally  John  Bradford  would  break  his  re- 
serve and  talk  of  New  York  or  London  or  the  woods 
of  Maine.  Such  accounts  as  he  gave  of  London  and 
New  York  I  believed  to  be  fictitious,  but  I  thought 
them  interesting  and  Sarah  Clarke  thought  so,  too, 
though  for  different  reasons  from  mine. 


CHAPTER  XV 

NO  matter  what  else  Washtucna  omitted  to  do 
that  summer,  she  did  not  omit  to  grow. 
Grocery  stores,  drygoods  stores,  saloons  and 
women  of  Magdalene's  trade  arrived  to  us  every 
day.  And  there  was  business  for  all.  Also  every 
train  brought  land-hungry,  genuine  settlers,  both  men 
from  our  own  older  States  and  poor  immigrant  fami- 
lies direct  from  beyond  the  great  water,  principally 
Scandinavians,  Germans  and  Irish.  Oh,  it  was 
lively!  The  poker  game  In  Jan  Havland's  never 
stopped  for  two  months  —  oh,  it  was  very  lively  I 

Of  course,  as  Washtucna  and  the  Palouse  Coun- 
try grew  in  population,  the  rival  tribes  of  Saints  and 
Sinners  attracted  new  recruits.  Indeed,  almost  every 
new  arrival  quickly  accumulated  one  set  or  another 
of  these  preferences  and  prejudices  and  learned  to 
speak  of  perfectly  reputable  people  as  cattle-thieves. 
There  had  been  from  the  first  a  non-partlzan  element, 
and,  of  course,  this  also  grew  in  numbers.  Amongst 
them  Doc  Punts  was  unique.  He  was  belligerently 
non-partizan.  He  snarled  at  both  sides  and  cursed 
them  and  challenged  them  and  without  partiality 
mended  their  physiognomies  when  they  were  shot  or 
cut  up,  which,  for  a  short  period  of  time,  was  very 
frequently  —  too  frequently,  the  neutrals  said. 

When  Washtucna  was  incorporated  a  town  it  had 
naturally  elected  Punts  mayor,  as  he  was  considered 

167 


1 68  CAM  CLARKE 

the  only  capable  person  to  preside  over  a  council 
composed  partly  of  Saints,  partly  of  Sinners.  One 
of  his  first  duties  was  to  select  a  marshal  for  the 
council  to  approve.  I  say,  select  for  the  council 
to  approve,  as  to  approve  his  decisions  was  the  only 
power  he  left  it.  He  had  at  first  selected  Mr.  Dan 
True  to  occupy  the  honourable  and  onorous  position. 
It  is  my  remembrance  that  the  office  was  without 
emolument,  and  it  was  honourable  chiefly  because  it 
was  the  most  dangerous  post  available.  A  zealous 
marshal  had  not  any  more  chance  to  miss  assassina- 
tion than  has  the  President  of  the  United  States. 
True  accepted. 

Mr.  True  was  a  mild,  sleepy  man  who  paid  very 
little  attention  to  anything,  and  under  his  beneficent 
rule  people  maimed  and  mangled  each  other  to  their 
hearts'  content.  He  openly  announced  it  as  his  plat- 
form that  every  one  should  have  a  "  square  deal.'' 
Just  what  a  *'  square  deal  "  was,  it  was  at  first  difficult 
to  say,  but  we  gradually  found  out  that  it  consisted 
in  not  shooting  or  striking  a  man  from  the  rear. 
The  ethics  of  this  was  a  little  beyond  Washtucna; 
she  would  as  soon  shoot  through  a  man  from  one  side 
as  the  other.  But  she  accepted  the  rule  and  Mr. 
True  lay  back  in  the  firm  belief  that  he  had  instituted 
a  great  moral  reform.     And  perhaps  he  had. 

But  Punts,  M.D.,  was  not  satisfied.  Although  he 
was,  without  doubt,  conscious  of  the  pecuniary  ad- 
vantages accruing  to  himself  as  a  surgeon  from  a 
continuance  of  the  reign  of  violence,  the  soul  of  a 
civil  administrator  would  not  permit  him  to  rest 
satisfied  with  anything  less  than  law  and  order.  He 
dismissed  Mr.  True  and  that  gentleman  was  so  sur- 


CAM  CLARKE  169 

prised  that  when  I  last  saw  him,  twenty  years  after- 
wards, he  was  still  wondering  at  the  cause.  That 
was  when  Cam  Clarke's  name  was  on  the  lips  of  half 
the  Caucasian  race,  but  Mr.  True  could  not  remember 
him.  However,  he  remembered  the  wild,  long- 
whiskered  old  Punts,  long  since  gone  into  the  iron 
frontier  of  North  Canada;  perhaps,  indeed,  gone 
father  yet,  for  all  I  know  —  perhaps  into  the  still 
colder  land  of  death. 

Some  one  suggested  that  a  marshal  should  have  a 
salary.  "No,  sir!  there  shall  be  no  pay,"  bawled 
Punts,  addressing  the  council,  pulling  his  long  beard 
to  one  side  and  grinning  his  devilish  grin.  "  It 
should  be  an  honour  to  serve  this  body  politic,  and  it 
is  —  which  I  defy  any  man  of  different  opinion. 
Gents  of  this  council,  Mr.  V.  Y.  Trillums  will  be  the 
next  marshal  and  we'll  have  order  and  justice.  And 
now  this  council  will  vote  upon  this  appointment  and 
confirm  it,  which  it  is  the  usage  of  free  governments 
always  to  vote  on  such  things.  I'm  tired  of  dis- 
cussion." 

The  council  smilingly  voted  "  Ay  "  with  one  ex- 
ception. Anything  Punts  proposed  was  all  right. 
That  exceptional  member  ventured  for  some  reason 
or  no  reason  to  expostulate. 

"  Silence !  "  roared  Mayor  Punts.  "  I  will  have 
no  remonstrances  from  the  disorderly  members  of 
this  council.  Such  people  are  hoboes!  Hoboes  of 
the  highest  order,  hoboes  of  the  first  water  —  gents, 
we'll  vote  I  I  repeat  It.  I'm  tired  of  argument. 
Does  the  council  attempt  to  bulldoze  me?  " 

At  this  stage  Cam  and  I,  who  had  been  occupying 
an  obscure  position  behind  the  big  stove,  withdrew. 


I70  CAM  CLARKE 

It  appeared  later  that  the  council  sustained  Mayor 
Punts  unanimously  and  that  it  freely  extended  him  a 
vote  of  unlimited  confidence.  They  were  proud  of 
his  rugged  arrogance,  and,  besides,  there  were  those 
amongst  them  who,  for  personal  reasons,  were  grow- 
ing tired  of  the  sound  of  pistol  shots,  and  there  were 
others  who,  for  reasons  of  municipal  policy,  desired 
to  see  a  period  of  peace  and  order.  It  was  said  that 
a  number  of  prospective  settlers  of  a  desirable  sort 
had  recently  decided,  after  viewing  the  rapidly  grow- 
ing graveyard  on  Robert's  Hill,  to  locate  in  more 
salubrious  and  less  exciting  surroundings.  Wash- 
tucna  did  not  like  this.  Her  disorders  she  had  con- 
sidered as  rough  play  and  she  did  not  like  to  see  them 
taken  seriously. 

The  council  and  Washtucna  in  general  had  confi- 
dence in  Mr.  Trillums.  He  was  as  quiet  and  as 
small  as  Mr.  True,  but  he  was  exceedingly  alert;  and 
as  the  little  grizzled,  stoop  shouldered  ex-soldier  went 
silently  about  minding  his  own  business  with  meticu- 
lous care,  people  very  soon  developed  a  habit  of 
stepping  off  the  sidewalk  in  order  not  to  delay  him ; 
and  they  shortly  commenced  to  speak  of  him  as  a 
genuine  marshal.  Their  interest  in  the  man  grew, 
but  the  only  piece  of  knowledge  in  common  circulation 
concerning  his  past  was  the  account  of  those  three 
fingers  he  lost  on  Sherman's  march  to  the  sea.  This 
tale,  I  believe,  grew  somewhat  after  he  was  appointed 
marshal.  People  said  Sherman  had  wept  about  it 
and  that  little  Mr.  Trillums,  although  his  wound  was 
at  the  time  considered  mortal  on  account  of  a  gan- 
grenous condition,  continued  on  the  march,  and  that 
he  even  still  refused  to  stop  marching  when  he  got  so 


CAM  CLARKE  171 

bad  a  fever  that  he  could  have  had  himself  no  reason- 
able expectations  of  living.  Where  these  veracious 
narratives  came  from  I  am  unable  to  say,  but,  as 
Cam  said,  "  Mr.  Trillums  never  started  'em:  he's  so 
reticent  he  won't  tell  the  time  of  day."  Mr.  Tril- 
lums, it  may  be  stated  with  certainty,  never  started 
any  piece  of  talk  in  his  life. 

Mr.  Trillums  was,  by  profession,  a  cattleman. 
His  ranch  was  down  in  Dry  Creek,  where  they  breed 
all  the  rattlesnakes  in  the  world.  He  had  come  to 
Washtucna  to  give  his  two  children  the  incomparable 
advantage  of  attending  Professor  J.  Stilson's  school, 
likewise  to  give  his  wife  a  chance  to  attend  church  as 
much  as  she  wished,  while  he  worked  like  a  slave  in  a 
garden  back  of  the  house. 

Mr.  Trillums  spoke  to  the  council  to  thank  them 
in  his  thin  thread  of  a  voice,  which  could  scarcely  be 
heard  twenty  feet.  *'  I  hev,"  said  he  haltingly, 
"  alius  favoured  law,  order,  education  and  mil'tary 
service;  "  and  then  he  invited  the  council  to  contem- 
plate the  beneficent  condition  in  which  the  Prussians 
lived,  and  ended  by  exhorting  the  sky  to  *'  emulate 
them."  The  council  listened  patiently  to  his  brief 
remarks,  and  then  presented  him  with  his  badge  of 
office,  a  large  brass  star,  which  Mr.  Trillums  placed 
in  his  pocket.  As  he  did  so  he  said  that  every  one 
knew  who  was  marshal  anyway,  and  it  was  no  use 
to  be  "  garbed  up  in  uniform."  Then  he  wished 
them  luck  and  went  home,  and  it  is  said  that  he 
cleaned  up  his  old-fashioned  revolvers  with  great 
care,  said  his  prayers,  and  went  to  bed. 

A  day  or  two  later  a  large  bucking  contest  was  held 
on  such  part  of  Mr.  Day's  flat  as  was  not  covered 


172  CAM  CLARKE 

with  the  tents  or  shacks  of  a  rapidly  growing  town. 
It  was  attended  by  the  champion  cow-punchers  of  the 
Palouse.  Mr.  Scoop  Bender  rode  a  bay  steer  which 
protested,  Mr.  Alva  Young  put  a  dollar  in  each  of 
his  stirrups  and  kept  them  there  fifteen  minutes  while 
his  horse  bucked  "  ad  lib."  Then  Mr.  Bob  Dalton 
"  bulldogged  "  a  steer,  which  performance  consists 
in  catching  it  by  the  horns,  throwing  it  and  holding  it 
down  with  your  teeth.  This  last  was  considered 
good,  but  as  a  grand  finale  Mr.  Gunnysack  Charlie, 
who,  I  regret  to  say,  was  somewhat  elated  with  Jan 
Havland's  worst  liquor,  remembered  the  skill  of  his 
youth  and,  at  the  instance  of  Cam  and  me,  rode 
around  the  field,  amidst  vociferous  cheers,  standing 
on  his  head  on  the  bare  back  of  the  little  mule  Mary. 
This  was  a  creditable  performance  and  Cam  and  I 
felt  like  parents  to  it,  but  Mr.  Gunnysack  ungrate- 
fully abused  us  roundly  next  day,  saying  he  had  a 
headache  due  to  "  invertin'  himself."  We  pointed 
out  that  other  things  than  "  invertin'  "  oneself  pro- 
duce headaches,  but  he  refused  to  listen  to  us. 
Nevertheless,  we  continued  to  be  proud  of  our  part 
in  the  bucking  contest. 

While  the  activities  just  outlined  were  so  pros- 
perously proceeding,  two  men  had  arrived  in  town 
without  attending  the  contest.  One  was  Mr.  Slim 
Hayes,  a  gambler  from  Colfax,  the  other  was  Mr. 
John  Bradford,  who  returned  at  this  moment  from 
the  business  of  some  land  deal;  for  he  was  just  com- 
mencing those  extensive  purchases  of  land  which,  to- 
gether with  his  other  activities,  and  the  charming 
personality  that  had  thitherto  been  kept  muffled,  were 
to  make  him  for  a  time  the  most  distinguished  person 


CAM  CLARKE  173 

in  Washtucna,  not  excepting  even  those  eminent  men, 
Rusher,  Beauclerc  and  Punts. 

After  the  bucking  contest  was  over,  Mr.  Alva 
Young  and  Mr.  Scoop  Bender  were  so  impressed  with 
their  own  skill  in  riding  that  they  "  liquored  up  "  in 
celebration  of  it.  Having  spent  a  reasonable  time 
in  this  industry  they  walked  down  the  street  arm  in 
arm  and  came  across  Miss  May  Caylor  talking  to 
Slim  Hayes  in  broad  daylight.  There  seems  to  have 
been  no  impropriety  in  this  as  both  of  them  were 
people  of  such  wholly  undoubtful  reputation  that  no 
association  could  have  injured  either.  But  the  two 
cow-punchers,  to  whom  both  Slim  and  Miss  Caylor 
were  entire  strangers,  objected.  They  said  they 
were  jealous.  Miss  Caylor  was  flattered  by  this 
warm  attention,  and  she  managed  even  to  colour 
clear  through  with  crimson  the  vast  incrustation  of 
white  powder  on  her  haggard  cheeks.  But  Mr.  Slim 
Hayes  found  the  compliment  less  pleasing,  and  with 
some  reason.  It  is,  in  fact,  nothing  short  of  a  bore 
to  be  the  object  of  the  jealousy  of  two  armed  and 
intoxicated  cowboys. 

Mr.  Scoop  Bender  looked  Slim  over  carefully  and 
studiously,  as  though  that  gentleman  were  the  strang- 
est specimen  of  a  naturalist's  collection.  Then  he 
took  out  a  long  barrelled  revolver  and  very  deliber- 
ately aimed  and  fired  it  at  a  point  exactly  midway  be- 
tween Mr.  Hayes's  feet  and  about  an  inch  from 
each  one. 

Mr.  Hayes  threw  himself  out  of  joint  in  the  jump 
he  made.  Miss  Caylor  giggled.  She  was  a  cool 
woman  by  nature  and  one  of  varied  experience. 
Slim  would  have  fled  but  he  dared  not.     The  chal- 


174  CAM  CLARKE 

lenge  of  a  moving  target  might  prove  too  much  for 
these  ruffians'  self-control.  Mr.  Hayes  wished  he 
had  stayed  in  Colfax. 

"  Whichever  is  this  sport  doin'  here  anyway, 
Alva?  "  asked  Mr.  Scoop  Bender  querulously  of  his 
partner.  "  An'  why  don't  he  keep  out  o'  this  vil- 
lage? His  health  ain't  goin'  to  be  decent  here.  I 
just  know  it  ain't;  it's  goin'  to  peter  right  out,  'spe- 
cially if  he  keeps  on  joshin'  the  ledies  this  way.  I'm 
of  a  jealous  nature,  Alvy,  an'  I  can't  stand  for  it." 

Mr.  Slim  Hayes  grew  pale  and  he  sweated  and 
squirmed  tremendously  and  blinked  like  an  owl. 
Miss  Caylor  smiled  coquettishly.  "  Now  you  all 
boys  come  off,  don't  shoot  this  gent,"  she  pleaded, 
"  he  don't  mean  no  harm.     We're  old  friends." 

Mr.  Alva  Young,  who  had  thitherto  remained  in- 
active, looking  very  thoughtful,  now  volunteered  his 
services  "  to  he'p  run  this  snake  out  o'  town,  as  the 
ledies  air  desirin'  that  he  shan't  be  killed."  And 
then  he  argued  how  unfair  it  would  be  to  shoot  a 
man  whose  life  a  lady  valued. 

Miss  Caylor  entering  a  further  protest  against 
murder.  Scoop  Bender  said  that  the  expulsion  of  the 
gentleman  from  town  would  be  satisfactory  to  him. 
"  Whatch  your  name?"  he  asked  Mr.  Hayes  vio- 
lently. Mr.  Hayes  told  him.  "Then,  Mr. 
Hayes,"  said  Scoop  politely,  "vamoose!  Savvy? 
Hias,  clatawa  —  run !  "  and  he  pointed  down  the 
dusty  stage  road.  Mr.  Hayes  knew  no  Chinook,  but 
he  understood  the  invitation  to  leave,  and  he  accepted 
it  with  alacrity.     Scoop  was  eloquent  in  Chinook. 

Scoop  watched  him  grow  small  in  the  distance,  and 
then  turned  to  the  audience  which  had  gathered,  and 


CAM  CLARKE  175 

you  may  be  sure  Cam  and  I  were  In  it.  "  You  un- 
derstand, gents,  I'm  alius  just  this  way  —  jealous  and 
tender  hearted  —  alius  lettln'  somebody  off  I  " 

*'  Sure,"  said  Alva  deprecatingly,  "  if  any  of  these 
rough-house  gents  come  startin'  any  nonsense  with 
the  ledies  of  Washtucna,  Scoop  an'  I,  we'll  run  *em 
out  every  time.  This  here  ain't  no  disorderly  town, 
this  town  is  o'  right,"  and  he  looked  at  Miss  Caylor 
for  encouragement.  But  her  mood  had  changed. 
She  was  coolly  pulling  her  hair  up  from  over  her  ears 
and  tucking  it  more  or  less  neatly  away.  Alva,  to 
show  his  sense  of  the  changed  atmosphere,  com- 
menced petulantly  shooting  the  insulators  off  a  tele- 
graph pole. 

Miss  Caylor  watched  him  with  a  bored  expression. 
"  Boys,"  said  she,  calling  Cam  and  me,  **  I'm  tired  of 
this  here  disorder  myself.  You  tell  Mr.  Trillums 
there's  too  much  noise.  The  old  fellow  must  be 
asleep  —  the  idea  of  two  roughs  bein'  allowed  to 
shoot  up  a  town  like  this." 

Scoop  and  Alva  looked  at  her  in  astonishment  and 
Cam  and  I  departed  at  once  on  Miss  Caylor's  errand, 
hoping  fearsomely  that  we  could  bring  Mr.  Trillums 
down  and  so  produce  additional  fireworks.  As  we 
went,  we  could  hear  both  Scoop  and  Alva  begging 
Miss  Caylor  to  recall  us,  as  Mr.  Trillums  was  a  nice 
man  and  they  liked  him  and  did  not  want  to  break  his 
sleep. 

Mr.  Trillums  was,  indeed,  in  the  centre  of  a  solid 
and  reliable  afternoon  nap  and  it  was  difficult  to 
rouse  him;  but  when  we  succeeded  in  making  him 
understand  that  disorder  was  on  foot,  he  came  for- 
ward promptly,  but  without  any  visible  weapons 


176  CAM  CLARKE 

whatever,  which  was  not  In  accordance  with  the  best 
traditions  for  marshals.  However,  his  reputation 
for  determination  was  worth  an  arsenal  of  arms. 

Long  before  we  returned  down  town,  close  in  the 
wake  of  Mr.  Trillums,  Scoop  and  Alva  had  forgotten 
their  disinclination  for  trouble  with  Mr.  Trillums  in 
the  pleasure  of  making  people  dance  for  their  edifi- 
cation. Jan  Havland  had  danced,  stimulated  thereto 
by  a  pistol  shot  which  grazed  one  of  his  great  toes, 
and  the  celebrators  were  at  work,  when  we  arrived, 
upon  no  other  person  than  Mr.  John  Bradford,  who, 
as  we  have  remarked,  had  just  ridden  in  from  the 
country.  He  was  dressed  in  the  riding  clothes  of  the 
"  eftete  ''  East,  and  upon  this  fact  both  Alva  and 
Scoop  allowed  themselves  wide  range  in  remarks. 
Mr.  John  Bradford,  at  the  time  he  was  approached 
with  their  seductive  invitation  to  dance,  was  drinking 
a  glass  of  beer  at  Jan  Havland's  bar.  They  fired  a 
preliminary  shot  between  his  legs  to  attract  his 
attention  —  fortunately  these  legs  were  slightly 
bowed.  Mr.  Bradford,  at  that  particular  moment, 
had  his  head  thrown  back,  and  was  draining  a  glass. 
With  remarkable  self-possession  he  finished  the  evo- 
lution, took  out  his  handkerchief,  and  wiped  his 
stubby  moustache,  and  then  turned  around  with  a 
cool,  hostile  and  inquisitive  glance.  The  coldness 
of  his  glance  seems  to  have  been  overlooked. 

"  Le's  see  you  dance,  stranger,"  invited  Scoop 
gently. 

Mr.  Bradford  calmly  declined,  and  leaned  his 
elbow  on  the  bar,  his  glances  not  warming  In  the 
least.  Scoop  and  Alva  were  puzzled  and  somewhat 
embarrassed.     Their  invitations  were  usually  given 


CAM  CLARKE  177 

more  consideration.  Scoop  said  In  astonishment 
that  he  would  be  "damned,"  Alva  made  a  similar 
but  more  elaborate  remark. 

It  was  at  this  stage  that  Mr.  Trillums  arrived,  fol- 
lowed, of  course,  by  Cam  and  me,  who  had  no  busi- 
ness to  be  there.  Mr.  Trillums  came  In  very  quietly 
and  gently,  as  was  his  wont.  He  looked  around  in 
a  friendly  and  Inquisitive  way  and  then  spoke  mildly. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  "  youVe  kickin'  it  a  little  too  high. 
Give  me  your  guns  —  hurry  up  I  "  This  last  sharply, 
as  they  appeared  to  hesitate  and  to  look  again  long- 
ingly at  the  region  between  Mr.  Bradford's  legs. 
Mr.  Bradford  continued  to  stare  at  them  coldly. 

Mr.  Trillums  took  a  step  forward  and  Scoop  and 
Alva  handed  over  the  guns,  four  in  all.  Mr.  Tril- 
lums stuck  two  in  his  coat  pockets  and  kept  two  in 
his  hands.  "  Now  go  on  over  there  to  the  cala- 
boose," he  commanded  gently;  and  they  marched  as 
obediently  as  Chinamen  out  Into  the  bright  sunlight 
and  across  the  dusty  road  to  the  calaboose,  which  was 
standing  wide  open,  guiltless  of  a  lock,  gaping  hos- 
pitably to  all  passers. 

"  Now  stay  there  until  I  get  back,"  commanded 
Mr.  Trillums,  as  he  departed  for  the  hardware  store 
to  buy  a  lock,  leaving  the  door  wide  open.  The 
prisoners  did  so,  talking  in  quiet,  disgusted  tones  of 
Slim  Hayes's  low  opinion  of  women  and  of  the  ex- 
traordinary calm  of  that  Eastern  sport,  Bradford. 
Mr.  Trillums  presently  trotted  back  with  a  big  iron 
padlock.  He  shut  the  door  softly,  snapped  the  lock, 
and  walked  off,  humming  "  Marching  Through 
Georgia  "  under  his  breath,  while  inside.  Scoop  and 
Alva  continued  uninterrupted  the  conversation  con- 


178  CAM  CLARKE 

cerning  women,  Mr.  Hayes  and  John  Bradford. 
Before  Cam  and  me,  Mr.  Trillums  halted.  "  I  be- 
lieve, sir,"  said  he  with  the  air  of  having  made  a  dis- 
covery, "  that  General  Sherman  was  a  great  soldier, 
as  great  as  Hannibal,  young  sirs, —  I  believe  it,"  and 
he  went  off,  nodding  his  head  and  singing  '*  March- 
ing Through  Georgia." 

We  told  Sarah  Clarke  what  had  happened  and  she 
said  Mr.  Trillums  was  right,  but  at  the  same  time  she 
busied  herself  wrapping  up  a  piece  of  cake  as  big  as 
ten  of  her  fists,  and  a  can  of  sardines.  Then  she  told 
us  to  "  poke  it  through  the  bars  to  those  men  inside. 
They  haven't  any  more  sense  than  you  or  Cam; 
probably  they  did  not  lay  in  a  supply  of  cake  at  all 
before  they  went  to  the  *  skookum  house.'  "  And 
thereby  she  again  showed  the  masterly  superiority 
of  the  feminine  mind  to  logic. 

We  reminded  her  that  the  structure  of  a  jail  was 
not  quite  loose  enough  to  facilitate  the  passing  in  of 
fat  chocolate  cakes,  whereupon  she  cut  it  up  into 
pieces,  we  eating  the  crumbs.  In  strict  honesty  I 
confess  that  Scoop  and  Alva  were  snoring  when  we 
arrived,  but  we  put  it  between  the  bars,  and  I  sup- 
pose they  got  it  later.  "  I  feel  better,"  said  Mrs. 
Clarke  when  we  told  her,  "  because  those  men  have 
certainly  been  kind  to  me.  Why,  the  way  they  tear 
clothes  is  prodigious.  They  must  do  it  by  ma- 
chinery." And  her  eyes  got  watery  and  Cam  and  I 
ran  away,  as  that  always  made  us  as  uncomfortable 
as  if  we  had  been  caught  lying. 

Next  morning  Mr.  Trillums  turned  loose  his 
prisoners  and  invited  them  and  Mr.  Bradford  to  Jan 
Havland's  to  have  a  glass  of  beer  with  him.     "  Law 


CAM  CLARKE  179 

and  order,"  said  Mr.  Trillums  with  modest  pride, 
"was  vindicated  here  yisti'day;  yes,  sir!"  Scoop 
and  Alva  apologised  to  Mr.  Bradford  and  that  gen- 
tleman expressed  himself  as  having  forgotten  the 
past.  But  Scoop  and  Alva  would  not  forget  it. 
They  Insisted  that  their  shame  had  been  too  nearly 
brought  home  to  them  by  the  kindness  of  Mrs. 
Clarke  to  make  forgetfulness  easy.  "  What  did 
that  sweet  and  noble  lady  do,"  said  Scoop  sadly,  "  but 
send  us  renegades,  by  her  own  Innocent  child,  a  lunch 
thar  in  jail.  Yes,  sir,  gents!  And  while  our 
stomachs  weren't  none  hospitable  to  food  when  we 
waked  up,  we  ate  it,  which  we'd  a  done  under  them 
circumstances  if  It  was  lead  and  poisoned  at  that,  as 
we  was  unwillin'  to  hurt  the  lady's  pinted  and  deli- 
cate feehn's." 

The  heroic  courtesy  of  Scoop  and  Alva  was  so 
stimulating  to  Mr.  Trillums  that  he  made  the  state- 
ment that  whosoever  afterwards  "  went  loco  "  on 
that  shooting  business  would  also  be  disarmed  and 
arrested,  as  to  do  less  to  them  would  be  to  reflect 
upon  his  dear  friends  Scoop  and  Alva.  This  was 
considered  a  reckless  promise,  but  as  Mr.  Trillums 
was  one  of  those  men  known  to  be  at  promised  places 
at  promised  times,  no  one  openly  doubted  his  state- 
ments, although  there  were  questions  raised  In  private 
as  to  his  probable  length  of  life.  But  it  was  because 
of  this  promise,  which  soon  became  widely  known, 
that  the  then  popular  sport  of  "  shooting  up  "  things 
became  obsolete  In  Washtucna.  To  "  effete  "  East- 
erners this  was  an  added  charm  to  Washtucna  life. 

The  next  Issues  of  Sun  and  Breeze  showed  an  ex- 
traordinary condition  of  opinion.     Those  two  papers 


i8o  CAM  CLARKE 

at  last  had  a  belief  in  common.  They  both  believed 
in  Mr.  Trillums  and  supported  the  policies  of  the 
"  noble  hearted,"  "  battle  worn  "  "  sage  "  and  "  pa- 
triot/' '*  the  marshal,"  "  the  preserver  of  civic 
order,"  etc.,  etc.,  and  more  of  that  sort,  while  Mr. 
Trillums  quietly  and  earnestly  worked  in  his  vege- 
table garden. 

Cam  and  I,  after  this  true  symphony  of  praise, 
decided  that  we  would  grow  up  to  be  marshals  instead 
of  cattle-kings  and  gamblers,  and  Sarah  Clarke  ex- 
pressed wonder  that  God  had  not  arranged  to  have 
more  people  like  Mr.  Trillums  and  fewer  like  some 
people  she  knew  in  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  not, 
however  (as  she  took  pains  to  remark),  that  there 
were  any  similar  to  them  in  Washtucna.  As  this 
remark  was  made  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Skookum 
Jones,  Doc  Punts  and  Mr.  Bradford,  who  were  pay- 
ing their  usual  bi-weekly  call,  it  was  repeated.  It 
was  generally  interpreted  as  a  remark  highly  com- 
plimentary to  all  Washtucnans,  and,  as  such,  it,  of 
course,  has  never  been  allowed  to  die.  And  as  every 
man  in  Washtucna  firmly  believed  himself  in  his 
heart  as  good  as  Trillums  or  anybody  else,  the  state- 
ment has  been  found  very  soothing  to  the  amour 
propre  of  some  thousands  of  people. 

"  She's  a  keen  woman,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Skookum 
Jon^s,  once,  later,  in  comment,  "  and  she  frames  up 
remarks  in  a  highly  pleasing  way." 

"  She's  just  about  as  smart  and  agreeable  as  hell," 
said  Punts,  chewing  his  cigar. 

Bradford  was  absent  from  this  post  mortem,  but  I 
am  of  the  opinion  that  he  was  exactly  of  the  same 
mind. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

SCHOOL  opened  that  year  over  Won  Gee's  laun- 
dry because  the  old  school  house  had  been 
bought  for  a  church.  By  the  time  it  began 
Cam  was  terribly  sick  of  "  Three  Button  "  Sim  Hor- 
lacker,  as  we  called  him,  on  account  of  his  Sunday 
vest,  of  which  we  were  all  secretly  envious.  Cam 
felt  that  he  must  do  something,  but  he  was  patient 
and  bided  his  time. 

What  made  Cam  so  sick  was  not  having  Julie 
Beauclerc  to  tease  or  talk  to,  and  the  kind  of  sickness 
he  had  made  him  as  restless  and  mean  tempered 
as  an  ordinary  grown  person,  which  is  rotten.  It 
was  hard  on  Sandy  and  me.  We  did  not  know  what 
to  expect.  We  would  start  hunting  curlew  eggs  and 
half  way  Cam  would  change  his  mind  and  stick  his 
red  head  into  a  stinking  coyote  hole  or  decide  to  go 
home,  and  we  would  have  to  follow  his  new  whim 
—  and  every  one  knows  how  trying  it  is  to  keep 
changing  your  mind.  It  was  hard  on  us,  I  say,  but 
we  stayed  with  him  and  did  not  complain  much.  We 
knew  what  was  the  matter.  We  knew,  also,  that  he 
was  the  best  fellow  we  had  ever  seen  and  we  had  no 
doubt  that  he  would  ride  Sim  Horlacker  to  school 
some  morning  and  make  him  lie  down  and  roll  over. 
We  had  great  faith  in  his  ability  as  a  "  buckero  "  of 
boys.  Incidentally,  there  have  since  been  grown 
people  who  had  the  same  absurd  faith  in  Cam  as 

i8i 


1 82  CAM  CLARKE 

a    "  buckero  '*    of   recalcitrant   business    associates. 
Their  faith  was  justified  and  so  was  ours. 

Of  course  Cam  and  Sim  did  not  speak  to  each 
other.  They  would  walk  half  a  mile  to  avoid  meet- 
ing and  they  played  on  opposite  sides  of  the  school 
house  so  as  to  avoid  seeing  each  other.  But  one  day 
at  noon,  apparently  by  mutual  agreement,  they  both 
entered  the  neutral  ground  behind  the  school  house 
and  without  saying  a  word  to  anybody  started  fight- 
ing earnestly.  And  neither  one  cried  or  yelled  or 
boasted.  But  the  rest  of  us  yelled  so  loud  with  ex- 
citement that  Professor  Jim  Stilson  was  waked  from 
his  nap.  He  rushed  down  stairs  and  he  and  little 
Ah  Toy,  the  Chinaman,  who  came  out  of  the  laundry, 
pulled  Cam  and  Sim  apart.  But  It  was  a  hard  pull. 
They  fought  to  get  at  each  other  like  little  devils  and 
they  hung  on  to  each  other  like  leeches  or  bad  habits. 

Professor  Stilson  took  them  upstairs  by  the  backs 
of  their  respective  coat  collars  and  stood  them  In 
opposite  corners  of  the  school  room.  After  the  noon 
recess  was  over  he  whipped  them  before  the  school. 
That  was  the  final  test.  He  whipped  Sim  first  and 
Sim  bellowed  like  a  calf.  That  surprised  us,  because 
it  Is  not  at  all  the  correct  thing  for  a  boy  to  cry  on 
account  of  a  whipping.  It  surprised  us  a  lot.  Sim 
was  showing  yellow.  Then  Professor  Stilson 
whipped  Cam  much  harder  than  he  had  whipped  Sim. 
This,  I  ought  to  explain,  was  not  due  to  prejudice, 
but  to  the  fact  that  he  had  warmed  up  to  the  work. 
Cam  got  white  during  the  operation,  but  he  never 
uttered  a  sound.  That  was  the  difference  between 
Cam  and  Sim.  Sim  was  a  sport  but  he  had  his  limits. 
Cam  had  no  limits.     He  was  a  long  distance  sport 


CAM  CLARKE  183 

and  had  Marathon  moral  powers.  He  was  ready 
for  a  fight,  for  an  amputation  or  for  fun.  Even  his 
enemies  still  accord  him  the  same  spirit.  This  whip- 
ping episode  was  a  great  triumph  for  Cam.  It  was 
easy  to  see  now  who  was  the  best  boy  around.  Even 
Sim  could  have  told  and  of  course  little  Julie  Beau- 
clerc  saw  it  more  quickly  than  anybody.  It  was  bet- 
ter for  Cam  than  if  Sim  had  actually  cried  "  nuff  " 
out  there  on  the  playground.  Sim  shrank  up  like  a 
withered  flower,  Cam  expanded  a  little. 

That  night,  after  school,  Julie  said  she  would  not 
have  anything  more  to  do  with  Sim  as  he  was  a  cow- 
ard, a  baby  and  a  booby,  and  she  told  Cam  right  be- 
fore everybody  that  she  thought  he  was  a  noble  boy. 
So  noble  that  if  he  would  just  quit  that  I.O.D.P. 
lodge,  she  would  ask  her  mother  to  let  him  and  Sandy 
and  me  come  up  and  eat  pumpkin  pie  and  drink 
milk  some  day.  That  wrecked  I.O.D.P.  It  would 
break  any  lodge. 

Cam  said  that  I.O.D.P.  was  "  sort  of  petered 
out  *'  anyway  and  then  he  remarked  that  we  all  liked 
pumpkin  pie  and  milk  better  than  lodge  and  finally 
he  said  we  would  come.  Sandy  and  I  were  glad,  we 
were  afraid  he  would  proudly  refuse.  Then  Cam 
requested  her  to  ask  Sim  to  come  too,  as  he  and  Sim 
had  decided  to  be  great  friends.  He  did  not  inform 
her,  I  believe,  that  Sim  was  not  yet  aware  of  this 
decision;  that  would  have  been  to  "examine  too 
curiously.''  But  Sim,  nevertheless,  responded,  as 
Cam  had  predicted,  and  Cam  drove  over  another 
hazard  by  his  knowledge  of  psychology. 

Then  we  all,  except  Julie,  went  to  the  Rushers'  hay 
mow  and  talked  to  Mr.  John  Shoultersack,  who  was 


1 84  CAM  CLARKE 

lying  sick  with  some  kind  of  fever  the  name  of  which 
is  Spanish.  He  had  loaded  himself  with  this  disease 
down  on  the  Orinoco  in  South  America,  where  he  had 
hunted  gold  or  the  fountain  of  youth  or  general  popu- 
larity or  some  such  hopeless  thing  for  two  seasons 
without  finding  it.  He  was  shaking  like  the  piston 
of  a  pneumatic  hammer  when  we  arrived  and  he  was 
drinking  port  wine  to  cure  himself.  We  said  we 
would  go  away  if  he  said  so,  but  he  asked  us  to  stay, 
as  he  always  had  desired  to  die  in  company;  besides, 
he  might  need  some  more  port,  which  we  could  get 
him  from  Jan  Havland's  if  he  wanted  it. 

We  stayed  and  he  quieted  down  pretty  soon  and 
fell  asleep  exhausted  from  the  work  of  manufactur- 
ing and  exhibiting  so  fine  a  chill;  so  Cam  wrote  a 
poem  to  Julie,  which  he  gave  to  Sandy  to  give  to  me 
to  give  to  Julie  next  day  at  school.  I  did  so,  and 
she  said  it  was  like  Shakespeare  only  different,  which 
was  a  good  criticism.  And  she  said  she  appreciated 
having  it  come  in  such  a  round  about  way  through  so 
many  perils.  The  perils  referred  to  were  those  of 
being  thrashed  by  J.  Stilson. 

Next  morning  we  went  up  to  see  Mr.  Shoulter- 
sack's  remains,  but  he  was  sitting  up  perfectly  well, 
playing  solitaire  in  the  hay.  He  told  us,  however, 
not  to  be  discouraged,  as  he  would  have  another  fit  in 
precisely  so  many  days  later  and  perhaps  he  would 
die  then,  so  we  thanked  him  and  went  on  to  school 
and  said  we  would  watch  him  through  all  his  periodic 
sicknesses  until  he  really  died. 

Things  went  very  satisfactorily  at  school  that  day. 
All  the  boys  came  over  at  recess  and  joined  our  gang, 
and  finally  Sim  did,  too,  publicly,  as  he  said  he  didn't 


CAM  CLARKE  185 

"  see  no  sense  to  bein'  lonesome."  It  made  a  big 
gang  and  Cam  was  at  the  head  of  it  and,  indeed,  there 
was  thereafter  no  gang  of  boys  in  Washtucna  but  his 
as  long  as  ever  he  continued  to  live  there.  In  rail- 
road circles  it  is  now  the  same  way.  There  is  no 
gang  but  Cameron  Clarke's.  He  is  getting  to  be  a 
nuisance  in  a  way  —  but  let  God  and  Congress  tend 
to  that.     I  am  a  sheep  raiser. 

We  got  awfully  tired  of  school  that  fall  —  just  as 
boys  do  every  spring  and  fall  and  summer  and  winter. 
We  wanted  so  much  to  be  stirring  around  that  it  was 
almost  unbearable  to  sit  all  day  watching  Jim  Stilson 
or  studying  or  playing  tricks  behind  your  desk,  and 
it  even  got  tiresome  to  try  to  understand  what  the 
Chinese  downstairs  said  when  they  chattered  like 
monkeys  without  saying  anything. 

I  do  not  now  believe  that  Professor  Stilson  was  a 
very  good  teacher.  Still,  that  did  not  matter  too 
much.  If  God  has  given  you  brains  which  can  really 
think,  not  ten  thousand  Jim  Stilsons  could  put  chunks 
in  the  gear  wheels  of  your  mind;  and  if  you  have  not 
brains  —  well,  you  need  not  expect  Jim  Stilson  to 
supply  you.  But  Professor  Jim  was  picturesque. 
He  used  to  sit  at  least  half  the  day  with  his  mouth 
full  of  tobacco  and  with  his  crooked  fingers  under  his 
lantern  jaw,  reading  papers  full  of  pictures  of  ladies 
In  tights.  Three  times  during  the  day  he  would  go 
to  his  locker  and  swallow  a  glass  of  whisky,  then  he 
would  return  and  either  fall  asleep  and  snore  or  ask 
questions  of  his  pupils.  Sometimes  while  he  was 
asleep  some  of  us  would  creep  out  and  he  never  knew 
the  difference,  even  after  he  awoke.  I  have  had 
some  doubts  as  to  why  Mr.  Stilson  was  selected 


1 86  CAM  CLARKE 

school-master  —  not,  as  I  say,  that  it  matters ;  the 
second  choice  would  have  been  a  young  lady  who 
chewed  gum. 

Cam  and  I  were  always  very  enterprising  in  slip- 
ping out,  and  so  was  Julie.  And  I  wager  that  even 
now  Cam  sometimes  leaves  the  office  early.  We  usu- 
ally improved  such  time  as  we  gained  in  this  way  by 
visiting  the  Chinamen  downstairs  and  thus  we  got  to 
be  great  friends  with  them.  This  was  a  very  profit- 
able acquaintanceship.  They  showed  us  how  they 
smoked  opium  and  Cam  started  to  learn  Chinese  writ- 
ing, which  are  two  important  things  to  know.  He 
got  far  enough  to  make  figures  which  mean  '^  this  is  a 
Chinese  laundry,"  which  sign  he  painted  on  the  door 
of  a  church  on  Hallowe'en,  to  the  intense  amusement 
of  the  Chinese  and  to  the  indignation  of  a  certain 
Methodist  congregation.  Sarah  Clarke,  when  we 
told  her  of  it,  said  we  were  wicked,  but  she  did  not 
seem  angry,  so  we  did  not  believe  her,  and  we  planned 
to  do  that  same  thing  every  Hallowe'en  all  our  lives. 
But  things  have  changed.  I  seldom  decorate 
churches  with  such  signs  now  and  I  doubt  if  Cam 
does. 

And  so  the  autumn  went  along  and  winter  came. 
Sarah  Clarke  was  not  well  at  this  time,  but  we  were 
too  heedless  to  see  it.  Things  went  badly  also  at 
my  house  and  I  was  too  heedless  to  feel  that  much 
either.  My  father  had  grown  to  be  a  drunkard  so 
much  faster  than  he  became  prosperous  that  he  never 
became  prosperous  at  all.  Of  course,  he  reformed 
every  morning  when  he  had  a  headache,  but  he  went 
bad  again  by  ten  of  the  clock.  And  he  became  so 
violent  tempered  that  home  life,  as  I  remember  it, 


CAM  CLARKE  187 

consisted  more  in  the  acrobatic  exercise  of  dodging 
than  in  the  indulgence  of  sweet  affections.  One  for- 
tunate thing,  our  home  life  made  me  like  school;  for 
being  in  school  involved  being  away  from  home  and 
gave  me  a  recess  from  this  infernal  dodging.  The 
sport  of  teasing  my  father  had  ceased  to  be  a  recom- 
pense for  the  pains  of  his  beatings. 

Autumn  and  winter  I  Well,  the  wood  fires 
crackled  cheerfully  and  the  oatmeal  mush  was  beau- 
tifully warm  in  the  mornings.  Yet  poor  Sarah 
Clarke!  that  winter's  winds  went  through  you  like 
frozen  needles,  so  thin  and  frail  you  were.  Punts 
was  worried  about  Mrs.  Clarke  and  he  was  worried 
about  my  sister  Mary,  whose  cough  grew  no  better. 

A.  J.  Punts,  M.D. —  that  was  the  way  his  sign 
read.  He  was  a  good  man,  and  one  place  where  he 
helped  people  I  remember  very  distinctly,  for  the 
people  were  we  wild  Campin  children.  He  and 
John  Bradford  had  just  been  to  see  Mary  for  her 
cough  and  they  were  walking  away  through  the  thin 
snow,  silently,  all  steeped  in  thought,  when  they  met 
my  little  father  aflame  with  drink,  quite  wild,  quite 
uncontrollable  and  on  the  verge  of  **  tremens.'* 
They  would  not  let  him  go  home  and  after  discussion 
he  went  back  with  them  to  Punts'  office,  where  they 
cared  for  him  for  three  days,  fed  him  and  lashed 
him  down  to  the  sofa  to  keep  him  from  killing  him- 
self, Bradford  sitting  on  the  little  man's  chest  all  of 
one  night.  And  that  was  the  night  that  Punts  sent 
around  a  hat  for  Mary  Campin  —  and  Sarah  Came- 
ron Clarke  carried  it  —  and  Mary  Campin  needs 
took  what  it  brought,  for  we  were  as  hungry  as 
wolves.     But  even  that  could  not  stop  her  cough. 


1 88  CAM  CLARKE 

When  my  father  came  out  he  was  improved  and 
never  again  became  so  bad.  There  were  always 
flashes  of  nobiHty  In  the  little  man  and  when  he  was 
good  he  was  better  than  good. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IT  was  shortly  after  the  temporary  reformation  of 
my  father  due  to  ''  tremens  "  and  his  conscience 
that  Mr.  John  Bradford's  importance  in  the 
community  commenced  to  be  generally  recognised. 
He  had  been  there  for  some  time,  but  Washtucna, 
with  a  conservatism  worthy  of  an  older  community, 
had  omitted  to  take  him  to  her  heart.  Now,  how- 
ever, in  the  comparative  leisure  of  winter  occupa- 
tions, Washtucna  had  time  to  re-appraise  her  various 
inhabitants.  When  she  came  to  list  John  Bradford's 
good  qualities  and  sum  up  his  virtues,  she  realised 
that,  led  astray  by  an  entirely  proper  conservatism  in 
matters  of  dress,  she  had  underestimated  the  man. 
To  recite  a  complete  roster  of  his  charms  would  be 
tedious.  Certain  of  his  points  were,  however,  unani- 
mously admired;  first,  in  particular,  the  cool  courage 
which  had  enabled  him  to  decline  Scoop  and  Alva's 
urgent,  revolver-adorned  invitation  to  dance ;  second, 
his  surprising  faculty  of  staying  on  bucking  horses,  a 
faculty  not  in  the  least  expected  in  a  man  wearing 
English  riding  trousers;  third,  the  barrel  full  of 
money  which  he  had  brought  out  from  the  East  and 
with  which  he  was  now  buying  land ;  and  fourth,  and 
perhaps  most  potent  of  all,  for  Washtucna  was  not 
jealous,  Mrs.  Clarke  seemed  to  trust  him. 

There  were,  I  need  not  remark,  people  who  saw 
other  virtues  in  Mr.  Bradford:  the  ladies,  for  ex- 

189 


190  CAM  CLARKE 

ample,  who  were  charmed  by  the  romantic  stories 
which  circulated  to  explain  why  so  handsome  and 
wealthy  and  well  bred  a  young  man  left  Vermont  to 
come  to  Washtucna.  Not  that  Mr.  Bradford  was 
much  comfort  to  these  ladies,  however,  for,  save  to 
Sarah  Clarke,  he  was  to  women  of  about  the  same 
degree  of  reticence  as  Mr.  V.  Y.  Trillums.  Then 
there  was  Mr.  J.  Stilson  who,  as  educational  expert 
of  the  town,  pointed  to  Mr.  John  Bradford  as  a  fine 
example  of  educated  man.  This  would  have  made 
Bradford  curse,  but  he  never  heard  it. 

Altogether  Mr.  Bradford  was  getting  on  very 
well,  and,  as  he  was  really  an  intelligent  person,  he 
saw  it,  and,  as  he  was  ambitious,  he  resolved  to  get 
along  better.  There  was  still,  he  knew,  a  faint  gen- 
eral prejudice  against  him  due  to  his  friendship  for 
high  collars,  pointed  toed  shoes  and  boiled  shirts. 
Why  not  remove  it?  Why  not  achieve  a  perfect 
popularity?  Perhaps  one  could  some  day  use  it. 
He  was  not  too  cold-blooded  about  all  this,  he  exer- 
cised but  common  sense. 

Mr.  Bradford,  having  made  up  his  mind,  shortly 
set  to  work  in  a  businesslike  way  to  remove  these 
lingering  feelings  of  resentment,  not  by  conformity  to 
Washtucna's  habits  of  dress  but  in  even  more  effect- 
ive ways,  for  Washtucna  liked  free  men.  First  he 
purchased  a  complete  set  of  band  instruments  for  an 
organization  to  be  called  "  Bradford's  Washtucna 
Silver  Cornet  Band."  Several  tuneful  young  men 
joined  him  in  this  enterprise  with  enthusiasm  and 
both  The  Sun  and  The  Breeze  referred  to  Bradford 
as  a  benefactor  and  philanthropist.  Over  this  Sarah 
Clarke  and  Bradford  laughed  heartily.     He  was  a 


CAM  CLARKE  191 

sane,  healthy  man  with  no  illusions  as  to  his  un- 
selfishness, but  he  could  see  a  joke.  His  band  exists 
to  this  day  in  name.  Mayhap  in  it  the  name  John 
Bradford  has  gained  a  qualified  eternal  life.  It  is 
like  having  a  lake  named  after  you  —  but  even  to 
have  a  lake  named  for  you  is  to  have  your  name  live 
but  a  day.  The  cycle  of  the  ages  is  long;  that  is  why 
we  call  it  eternity.  Lakes  live  but  a  day  and  then 
dry  up. 

We  may  at  least  say,  however,  that  John  Brad- 
ford's name  still  is  alive  in  Washtucna  long  years 
after  he  has  returned  to  Vermont,  taking  with  him 
four  barrels  of  money  for  the  one  he  brought.  And 
he  took  a  wife,  too ;  but  we  shall  get  to  that  later. 

There  were  still  intransigent  folk  who  were  not 
converted  to  John  Bradford.  They  speculated  on 
exactly  what  crime  he  had  committed  in  Vermont  and 
predicted  that  he  would  be  hanged  and  that  they 
would  help.  But  to  most  people  what  John  Brad- 
ford had  done  in  the  past  mattered  not  and  they  were 
indifferent  as  to  what  previous  wrestling  matches  he 
had  held  with  the  law.  They  found  him  square  and 
satisfactory  and  they  liked  him. 

Those  hearts  that  were  not  softened  toward  John 
Bradford  either  by  already  listed  virtues,  his  pleasing 
personality  or  the  discordant  and  persuasive  music 
of  his  band,  were  finally  completely  won  by  those 
twin  strokes  of  genius,  "  The  Widows'  Endowment 
Fund  of  Washtucna  "  and  the  "  Washtucna  Bank  " : 
one  appealing  to  hardheaded  people  with  money  and 
the  other  to  philanthropic  people  without  money,  of 
which  latter  there  are  a  surprising  number  in  every 
community. 


192  CAM  CLARKE 

The  Bank  came  before  the  Endowment  Fund.  I 
have  called  it  a  stroke  of  genius:  it  was  also  in  its 
popular  phases  an  accident.  Washtucna  had  not  a 
bank.  Bradford  decided  to  start  one  because  he  be- 
lieved it  would  pay  and  he  decided  to  install  it  in  the 
corner  room  of  Washtucna's  first  brick  building, 
which,  in  the  intervals  between  cold  spells,  was  then 
being  erected.  Washtucna  was  watching  the  prog- 
ress of  what  The  Breeze  called  "  this  handsome 
masonry  structure  "  with  tears  in  the  municipal  eyes. 
At  the  news  that  a  bank  was  to  inhabit  it  she  became 
somewhat  hysterical,  it  was  too  much  joy;  she  even 
broke  loose  noisily  with  fire  arms  again  until  Mr.  V. 
Y.  Trillums  shot  a  man  in  the  groin.  This  cooled 
Washtucna's  head  and  she  again  became  law  abiding. 

"  The  Widows'  Endowment  Fund  "  came  later. 
Like  the  bank.  It  was  started  by  Mr.  Bradford  for 
personal  reasons.  In  consultation  with  Doc  Punts 
and  Mr.  Skookum  Jones,  it  was  decided  that  Sarah 
Clarke's  health  no  longer  warranted  her  slave-like 
industry.  The  Widows'  Endowment  Fund  was  con- 
ceived as  a  diplomatic  method  of  rendering  her  as- 
sistance. John  Bradford  started  It,  as  I  have  noted, 
for  personal  reasons.  He  endowed  it  with  an  annual 
Income  from  a  tidy  number  of  Washtucna's  municipal 
bonds,  which,  of  course,  were  gilt  edge.  The  bank 
was  to  administer  the  funds  and  the  proceeds  were  to 
go  to  the  widows  of  Washtucna.  He  then  permitted 
other  people  to  contribute.  Mrs.  Sarah  Clarke  was, 
at  the  time,  the  sole  possible  beneficiary;  the  call  was 
irresistible.  Washtucna  threw  up  its  hat  and  turned 
its  pockets  Inside  out.     It  really  looked  as  though  the 


CAM  CLARKE  193 

widows  of  Washtucna  would,  In  the  future,  be  its 
wealthiest  inhabitants  if  they  were  not  careful. 

Mr.  Bradford  became,  after  that,  a  type  of  popu- 
lar hero ;  he  was  eulogised  more  fervently  than  ever 
by  both  The  Sun  and  The  Breeze  and  his  generosity 
was  emulated  until  the  endowment  funds  available  for 
expenditure  during  the  coming  year  were  almost 
doubled.  Thereafter,  until  his  departure,  Mr.  John 
Bradford  was  the  most  prominent  citizen  of  Wash- 
tucna. And  his  name  still  exists  not  only  in  the  band 
but  in  Bradford  Avenue  and  the  "  Bradford  En- 
dowment Fund,"  which  has  become  permanent. 

Mr.  Bradford  was  too  agresslve  to  ever  rest  con- 
tented. He  fortified  his  position  by  out-smoking, 
out-drinking  and  out-working  his  townsmen  and  by 
showing  more  attention  to  Mrs.  Sarah  Clarke  than 
any  one  else,  more,  even,  than  Punts  or  Jones.  Also, 
he  showed  his  belief  in  Washtucna's  future  by  lend- 
ing money  shrewdly  on  all  manner  of  property  and 
by  buying  hundreds  of  acres  of  rich  black  land  at 
the  ridiculously  low  figures  then  current.  This  ac- 
tive optimism  was  considered  a  virtue  amongst  vir- 
tues and.  Indeed,  it  was  nothing  else.  So  Is  every 
form  of  optimism.  The  object  of  life  is  to  do  some- 
thing. However,  in  the  long  run  Mr.  Bradford  was 
paid  for  this  virtue,  for  twenty  years  afterwards  his 
great  land  holdings  were  sold  at  such  a  figure  as  to 
fill  the  four  barrels  already  mentioned  with  real 
money.  This  is  always  the  case  when  it  does  not 
fail  to  be  the  case.  Virtue  is  its  own  reward  and 
sometimes  it  gets  other  rewards,  too. 

It  was  fortunate  for  Sarah  Clarke  that  this  endow- 


194  CAM  CLARKE 

ment  fund  came  Into  existence  (and  that  is  why  it 
did),  for  as  the  winter  advanced  she  became  so  weak 
and  wan  that  a  continuation  of  work  was  utterly  im- 
possible. Yet  she  persisted  against  accepting  its  help 
to  the  last  possible  moment,  finding  it  difficult,  I  sup- 
pose, to  give  up  the  figment  of  independence ;  and  it 
was  only  at  the  authoritative  command  of  A.  J. 
Punts,  M.D.,  that  she  stopped  her  mending  work 
forever.  Cam  and  I  were  in  the  house  that  morning, 
hugging  the  kitchen  stove,  because  it  was  cold,  and 
we  saw  her  make  her  gestures  of  acceptance  to  Punts; 
just  a  twist  of  her  mouth,  a  jerk  of  the  shoulders  and 
a  despairing  droop  of  the  head. 

"  I  suppose  I  might  as  well  eat  from  Washtucna*s 
company  table  as  to  steal  from  her  cook,"  she  said 
faintly  and  softly,  but  a  little  bitterly,  from  her  small 
rocking  chair.     ''  I  suppose  I  might  as  well." 

Punts  patted  her  on  the  back.  "  Washtucna  is 
tickled,  ma'm,"  he  said  cheerfully;  "  and  it  would  be 
hurt  if  you  didn't  come  through  all  right  and  take 
this,  and  so  would  Bradford,  who  says  all  this  philan- 
thropy Washtucna's  pulling  ofif  is  doing  the  place 
good.  But  he's  plum  down  In  despair  to-day  —  and 
so's  Skookum  Jones  and  me,  too,  for  that  matter. 
You  know  we  like  that  old  codfish  Jones." 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Mrs.  Clarke 
quickly,  forgetting  her  own  woes. 

"  Well,  I  tell  you,  Mrs.  Clarke,"  said  Punts, 
"  she's  this  way :  though  Skookum  ain't  sayin'  any- 
thing to  you  or  anybody,  he's  made  a  plum  fool  of 
himself;  which  in  some  respects  is  the  most  sensible 
thing  you  can  do.  It  may  serve  to  while  away  the 
time." 


CAM  CLARKE  195 

"  I  understand  —  I  know  how  to  read  a  bull  —  go 
ahead  I"  said  Mrs.  Clarke,  smiling.  "What's  the 
matter?" 

I  said  I  was  Irish  and  understood  bulls,  too,  but 
Punts  went  on  without  stopping  to  get  me  aboard  his 
conversational  boat. 

"  Well,  as  I  say,  Skookum's  had  a  fine  time  being 
a  fool  through  you  bein'  sick  and  not  able  to  see  him, 
but  he  ain't  tellin'  very  much.  Howsomever,  old 
Gunnysack  Charlie  is.  Gunny  has  been  curryin'  up 
Jones's  horses  for  a  livin',  his  gold  dust  from  Seven 
Devils  havin'  all  gone  the  way  of  flesh  and  Skookum 
havin'  a  lunatic  disinclination  to  seein'  the  old  sport 
starve.  This  morning  Gunny  tells  me  that  it's  he 
himself  that  invites  Jones's  attention  to  the  beauty 
of  that  young  lady  at  McPetherick's  Tennessee 
Restaurant.  And  Gunny  says  just  as  soon  as  he  men- 
tions it  to  Skookum  that  old  gentleman  admires  her 
right  off;  and  that  disregardin'  that  lady's  unqualified 
attachment  for  Carl,  which,  as  you  know,  ma'm,  is 
Jan  Havland's  bar-keep,  Skookum  starts  wooin'  her. 
This  is  on  account  of  you  havin'  sort  of  warmed  his 
feelin'  for  the  whole  sex,  you  see.  It's  like  you  had 
started  a  fire  and  then  it  had  got  loose  in  bunch  grass. 
Well,  Skookum  gets  warmed  up  and  he  goes  after  the 
citadel  of  her  affections  by  storm  in  that  strenuous 
manner  for  which  he's  so  famous  —  though  he  has 
not  heretofore  applied  it  to  courtship  except  on  you, 
where  it  wouldn't  work.  And  he  seems  to  captivate 
her,  as  it  were,  as  he  an'  the  young  lady  drives  off 
hot-foot  to  Colfax  by  night,  where  they  routs  the 
parson  out.  And  despite  the  unseemliness  of  the 
hour  he  hooks  'em  double,  sort  o'  in  parallel,  you  see. 


196  CAM  CLARKE 

Mrs.  Clarke,  an'  tells  'em  to  live  happy  ever  after- — 
which  advice  they  disregard;  disregard  right  away." 

"  What  a  shame !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Clarke  sympa- 
thetically; "  oh,  it  is  too  bad!  " 

"  Well,  you  see  old  Gunnysack  Charlie  is  cognizant 
of  all  these  here  exercises,  as  you  might  say,"  went  on 
Punts.  "  He  knows  all  about  'em  and  he  keeps 
watchin'  Mr.  Bar-keep  Carl,  who  don't  seem  to  mind 
at  all  these  carryin'  ons;  which  surprises  Gunnysack 
considerable  as  he  knows  human  nature,  which  is 
similar  to  brute. 

"  Well,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jones  they  came  back  the 
night  before  last  and  we  all  have  a  big  shiveree, 
which  we  want  to  start  'em  right  and  we  done  so. 
Mebbe  you  heard  the  noise  —  but  no,  you  didn't; 
it  was  the  night  you  took  the  sleepin'  stuff. 

"  This  forenoon  what  happens?  I  guess  the  girl 
finds  herself  with  a  big  bag  of  Skookum's  coin,  as  per 
plan,  so  she  strolls  around  and  pretty  soon  she  sights 
Carl  and  she  takes  up  with  that  sneakin'  square-head 
again,  and  while  Carl  abandons  his  profess'nal  clothes 
she  hires  one  of  Carroll's  rigs.  Then  she  picks  up 
Carl  on  the  corner  and  they  skin  out,  vamoose  for 
good,  taking  a  long  sack  of  Skookum's  money  which 
he  has  fatuously  give  the  female. 

*'  Well,  Gunnysack  has  seen  all  this  and  he  don't 
lose  any  time  finding  Bradford,  who's  buying  a  big 
piece  of  land  some  place,  which  is  his  favourite  occu- 
pation nowadays.  He  nods  his  head  and  says  very 
mild  and  soft,  '  Saddle  both  my  horses  and  you  come 
with  me  and  leave  word  for  Skookum  to  follow. 
It's  a  damn  shame  !  ' 

"  Which  Gunnysack  was  glad  to  do  as  he's  highly 


CAM  CLARKE  197 

indignant  at  having  Skookum  swindled.  It  was  all 
done  as  Bradford  says  except  that  Skookum  did  not 
follow,  he  came  right  with  them. 

"  They  caught  them  down  near  Robard's  and 
Gunnysack  says  Carl  and  the  female  was  consider- 
able scairt;  which  I  reckon  is  true  as  I'd  have  been 
also  or  anybody.  Bradford  has  'em  disembark  and 
then  he  slaps  Carl  on  each  side  of  the  face  and  walks 
up  and  down  and  talks  to  'em  on  morality  and  such 
things.  And  then  what  do  you  guess  he  did?  —  old 
Skookum  standin'  by  all  the  time,  ma'm,  for  he's  an 
old  man." 

Mrs.  Clarke  at  this  stage  wondered  aloud  if  Mr. 
Bradford  had  killed  one  or  both  the  traitors  and  she 
wondered  what  poor  old  Skookum  had  done  besides 
sit  still. 

"Bradford  killed  neither!"  said  Punts  trium- 
phantly. "Neither  —  he  gives  'em  a  present  of 
some  money  on  his  own  account  and  kicks  Carl  and 
takes  Skookum's  money  back  and  returns  it  to 
Skookum  and  then  comes  home." 

"  And  I  suppose  all  Washtucna  is  laughing  at  poor 
Skookum,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke  a  little  bitterly.  "  I 
suppose  if  the  poor  old  man  had  broken  his  arm  in 
addition  to  the  rest  of  the  damage  he  received  that 
they'd  die  laughing.     I  suppose  — " 

"  Ma'm,"  said  Punts  in  rather  hurt  tones,  "  you're 
mistaken  a  heap.  Washtucna  never  liked  Skookum 
Jones  like  it  does  now.  We  all  in  this  town  can  un- 
derstand a  gent  that  way,  who  gets  tangled  up  and 
tripped  by  his  own  picket  lines.  I  reckon  most  of 
us  have  been  throwed  ourselves.  Anyway  there 
ain't  been  any  joshin'  talk  at  all,  and  won't  be.     And 


198  CAM  CLARKE 

If  this  snake  Carl  ever  crawls  back  they'll  tar  and 
feather  him,  if  they're  not  so  carried  away  by  en- 
thusiasm as  to  hang  him.  And  besides,  ma'm,  John 
Bradford  and  I  have  taken  a  solemn  oath  to  seri- 
ously mangle  anybody  who  cracks  a  joke  on  this  sub- 
ject. He's  a  fine  sport,  old  Skookum  is ;  and,  besides, 
Washtucna  ain't  any  tea-party  for  idle  gossip.  No, 
sir!" 

"  I  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Clarke  presently,  "  that  you'd 
ask  Mr.  Jones  to  come  see  me  a  moment  when  he 
has  leisure.     Does  he  seem  much  worried?  " 

*'  Certainly,  ma'm,"  grated  Punts  good-naturedly, 
pulling  his  beard  until  it  should  have  come  out  by 
the  roots.  "  Yes,  he  feels  rotten  all  right.  Love 
ain't  any  joke." 

With  that  Punts  left  and  very  soon  afterwards 
Mr.  Bradford  came  to  the  door.  To  the  most 
casual  glance  he  was  different  from  other  Wash- 
tucnans;  cleaner  cut,  sharper,  better  trained,  better 
taught,  more  confident,  yet  less  self  assertive;  in 
short  more  highly  civilised. 

''  May  I  come  in  ?  "  he  asked  pleasantly.  "  I  have 
not  seen  you  for  a  week." 

"  Ye-es  —  please  do ;  I  wanted  to  see  you.  I 
wanted  to  talk  of  the  Widows'  Endowment  Fund. 
I  don't  see  how  — " 

"It's  this  way,  Mr.  Clarke,"  said  he  incisively; 
"  my  part  in  it  was  only  the  beginning  and  I  started 
it  for  personal  reasons.  It  suits  me  to  be  popular 
in  this  town  and  this  endowment  fund  is  a  sure 
method  by  which  to  get  popularity.  It's  pure  busi- 
ness. You  need  have  no  hesitancy  about  taking  the 
stuff.     I  buy  what  I  want  in  what  appears  a  good 


CAM  CLARKE  199 

market,  that's  all. —  And  I  can  afford  It,'*  he  added 
apologetically.  "  Maybe  I'll  want  to  be  Senator 
out  here  some  day;  you  can't  tell.  You  just  take  It 
and  give  me  the  popularity." 

"  I  suppose  you've  heard  of  Skookum's  marriage," 
he  said  presently  with  a  faint  smile. 

"  Yes,  and  I  am  sorry :  he's  a  fine  little  man.  Per- 
haps it  is  best  this  way,  though.  It  seems  so  to  me 
now.  Perhaps  they  could  never  have  been  very 
comfortable  married." 

"  Certainly,"  said  he,  "  it's  much  better  this  way. 
He's  all  right  now  and  I  think  he  won't  need  to  be 
that  kind  of  a  fool  again.  But,"  he  went  on  whim- 
sically, *'  it  is  not  like  me.  I've  been  all  the  kinds  of 
fool  already,  so  perhaps  I  can  be  sensible  always  after 
this." 

Which  whimsical  guess  at  the  future  proved  about 
correct.  I  never  knew  him  to  execute  anything  ex- 
tensively unfortunate  or  unintelligent.  But  I  believe 
he  had  really  messed  up  his  young  manhood  a  good 
deal. 

That  afternoon  the  first  instalment  of  funds  from 
the  Widows'  Endowment  arrived  and  Sarah  Clarke 
took  to  her  bed  where  she  should  have  been  for  a 
month. 

In  the  municipal  election  which  occurred  soon 
afterwards  Mr.  Bradford  was  elected  mayor,  vice 
A.  J.  Punts,  who  refused  to  allow  his  name  to  be  put 
up  for  a  second  term.  This  post  Mr.  Bradford  held 
until  he  returned  to  Vermont  with  the  before  men- 
tioned barrels  of  money  (or  their  equivalent  on  pa- 
per) and  the  wife  —  but  we  anticipate  again.  The 
Widows'  Endowment  Fund  had  served  its  prime  pur- 


200  CAM  CLARKE 

poses:  Mrs.  Sarah  Clarke  had  been  persuaded  to 
rest  and  John  Bradford  had  been  made  mayor  by  it. 
But  poor  Skookum  Jones's  outlay  of  affection  had 
brought  him  no  return  whatever.  Which  should 
teach  us  not  to  save  our  affections  too  much  for  use 
in  eld  age.  Yet  I  take  it  back:  it  had  brought  him 
something.  It  made  him  step  very  briskly  and  wear 
his  plug  hat  at  a  rakish  angle.  He  was  the  very 
devil  of  a  fellow. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THERE  is  no  doubt  whatever  that  Mrs.  Clarke 
occupied  in  a  sense  an  official  position  in 
Washtucna,  though  the  position  had  no  name. 
She  was  consulted  in  a  variety  of  affairs:  profes- 
sionally by  Punts,  M.D.,  and  politically  and  per- 
sonally by  the  new  mayor,  Mr.  Bradford;  and,  in- 
deed, for  heaven  knows  what  reasons  by  about  every 
male  and  female  in  Washtucna.  No  doubt  the  re- 
sponsibilities of  these  various  posts  had  some  part  in 
preventing  her  from  giving  in  to  sickness  long  be- 
fore she  did. 

Punts  was  now  greatly  concerned  about  Mrs. 
Clarke's  health  though  she  did  not  constantly  keep 
to  her  bed.  But,  despite  her  weakness,  when  the 
great  housewarming  party  was  given  shortly  before 
Christmas  by  Cayuse  Jimmy  Mohundro  at  the  open- 
ing of  his  new  house  on  Dutch  Flat,  Dr.  Punts  hav- 
ing recommended  recreation.  Mayor  Bradford  took 
Mrs.  Clarke  down  as  official  lady  representative  of 
the  town.  And  in  Washtucna  Christmas  festivities 
she  again  bore  a  prominent  part.  Probably  Wash- 
tucna could  have  existed  without  Sarah  Clarke,  but 
at  that  time  no  Washtucnan  would  have  admitted  it; 
least  of  all  that  firm  trio  of  friends,  Bradford,  Punts 
and  Jones. 

"  Cayuse  Jimmy's  party  furnished  a  delightful  if 
hilarious  entrance  into  the  holiday  festivities,"  said 

201 


202  CAM  CLARKE 

The  Washtucna  Breeze.  This  party  was  distin- 
guished amongst  other  things  for  the  wide  variety  of 
the  guests  and  for  their  spirited  conduct.  As  Mr. 
Gunnysack  CharHe  expressed  it,  "  All  the  glntry  av 
the  Palouse  Country  was  there  besides  siveral  others 
and  mesilf  and  they  behaved  rotten."  But  the  wide 
variety  in  company  was  not  appreciated  by  people 
generally.  Indeed,  1  suppose  to  all  persons  except 
Sarah  Clarke  and  John  Bradford  it  seemed  an  en- 
tirely normal  party. 

Mayor  Bradford  came  for  Sarah  Clarke  In  the 
only  two-seated  cutter  in  the  Palouse  Country,  to 
which  he  had  hooked  up  his  own  beautiful  Hamilton- 
ian  horses.  It  was  bitterly  cold  but  he  wrapped  us 
all  in  fur  robes,  stowed  Cam  and  me  behind  and  went 
off  like  the  wind  over  the  billowy  white  hills  which 
were  flooded  with  moonlight.  The  coyotes  cried  on 
the  hilltops,  the  horses'  breaths  froze  on  the  fur 
robes,  the  tongues  of  the  sleigh  bells  grew  faint  with 
frozen  vapour,  and  then  suddenly  we  were  in  front 
of  a  big  log  house  blazing  with  light  and  up  and 
down  and  around  were  blanketed  and  unblanketed 
horses  and  ponies  and  mules  tied  to  every  conceiv- 
able stationary  object  on  the  ranch.  From  inside 
came  a  persuasive  squeaking  of  fiddles,  a  shuffle  of 
feet  and  a  medley  of  voices.  Oh,  it  was  excessively 
gay  and  I  wished  I  had  stayed  at  home,  for  I  saw  that 
it  would  be  utterly  impossible  to  enter  the  door  into 
that  great  crowd  inside. 

They  made  way,  however,  and  welcome  for  Sarah 
Clarke  and  while  she  talked  with  people.  Cam  and  I 
slipped  off  to  one  side  between  the  redhot  stove  and  a 
big  fireplace :  one  was  for  looks,  one  for  heat.     Peo- 


CAM  CLARKE  203 

pie  had  come  far  to  Cayuse  Jimmy's  party,  for  Jimmy 
was  a  famous  man.  There  was  Nesepelim  Charlie 
Smith,  an  able  and  an  honourable  man.  Nesepelim 
was  by  religion  a  Mormon  and  he  had  two  squaws, 
both  of  whom  he  had  brought  seventy  miles  on  pony 
back  to  attend  this  fine  party.  Then  there  was  Nez 
Perce  Smith,  who  was  Nesepelim's  cousin,  and  there 
were  the  Rushers  and  Beauclercs  and  Frenchy 
Clemens  with  his  Irish  wife  and  a  flock  of  gaunt  and 
hungry  looking  children.  All  these  and  many  more 
Cayuse  Jimmy  and  his  wife,  who  was  a  quarter  Coeur 
d'Alene,  welcomed  vociferously.  Cayuse  and  his 
wife  made  a  picturesque  receiving  party,  as  he  for  the 
occasion  had  refused  to  don  any  garb  other  than  his 
usual  flannel  shirt,  lace  boots  and  corduroys,  whereas 
his  wife  eclipsed  past,  present  and  future  Palouse 
gowns  by  one  which,  if  not  from  Paris,  was  at  least 
from  Chicago  or  Spokane  or  Washtucna :  anyway  she 
had  not  made  it  herself. 

There  were  many  amongst  those  present,  however, 
who  considered  that  Sarah  Cameron  Clarke  was,  in 
her  modest  black,  still  the  most  beautiful  person  in 
the  room.  And,  in  plain  truth,  I  suppose  she  had  not 
ever  looked  better.  There  was  just  a  rose  flush  of 
colour  in  her  thin  cheeks,  her  gray-mottled  eyes  were 
brilliantly  lustrous  with  excitement  and  the  back- 
ground of  things  made  her  appearance  ten  times  more 
striking.  She  was  highly  civilised,  .while  the  people 
about  her  were,  in  a  sense,  of  the  barbarians.  Yet 
the  dress  was  of  all  sorts:  people  in  long  boots,  peo- 
ple in  '*  shaps  "  and  flannels  and  buckskin,  people  in 
plain  sack  suits  and,  finally,  there  was  John  Bradford, 
cap-a-pie,  in  perfect  evening  dress. 


204  CAM  CLARKE 

Sarah  Clarke  danced  once  with  Bradford,  I  think, 
and  once  she  rolled  through  a  riotous  quadrille  with 
Cayuse  Jimmy  himself.  The  rest  of  the  time  she  just 
talked  with  people,  and  her  conversation  was  as  light 
and  bright  as  sea  foam  in  sunlight;  but  it  too  swiftly 
changed  from  one  thing  to  another  to  be  remembered 
except  as  a  zig-zag  path  of  light.  And  yet  it  was 
pitched  just  right,  pitched  so  that  the  person  to  whom 
she  talked  understood. 

We  went  home  after  a  while  and  to  bed.  When 
we  awoke  in  the  morning  Washtucna  had  a  new  dis- 
ease, a  new  fever.  She  was  always  sudden.  Now 
she  was  simply  sick  with  a  desire  to  celebrate  Christ- 
mas as  handsomely  as  Cayuse  Jimmy  had  celebrated 
his  house-warming.  She  must  be  munificent  in  it. 
Why  not  give  everything  to  Christmas  ?  was  her  first 
Idea.  Why  not  have  a  celebration  on  a  scale  never 
before  dreamed  of? 

And  then  partizan  spirit  burst  forth  again.  And 
the  churches  were  not  the  parties  to  the  rivalry.  It 
was  the  Saints  and  Sinners  who  were.  Judge  Rusher 
clubbed  together  with  his  clansmen  the  Sinners  and 
Mr.  Beauclerc  clubbed  with  the  Saints.  Both  clans 
put  In  money  as  freely  as  though  it  had  been  a  benefit 
for  Sarah  Clarke,  for  nothing  can  be  done  any  place 
without  money.  And  then  they  sent  teams  twenty 
miles  through  the  cold  and  snow  for  Christmas  trees 
and  evergreen  branches.  The  journeys  of  those 
teams  were  epic:  they  broke  their  own  roads  through 
the  high  piled  drifts  of  the  foothills  and  then  with  a 
last  burst  of  effort  their  drivers  pushed  forward  on 
snowshoes  over  the  crisp  crust  and  dragged  down  the 
snow  laden  pines  by  main  strength  across  gulch  and 


CAM  CLARKE  205 

hill.  It  was  of  a  piece  with  the  Crusades  and  there 
was  about  the  same  amount  of  Christian  purpose  in 
the  background  of  it:  just  an  immense,  immediate  lik- 
ing for  the  grotesque,  the  romantic,  the  adventurous 
and  the  sentimental. 

Ironically  enough  it  was  the  Sinners  who  secured 
the  use  of  the  church  for  their  tree  and  it  was  the 
Saints  who  took  over  the  fraternal  hall  above  Jan 
Havland's  saloon. 

It  having  been  decided  by  common  consent  that 
giving  Christmas  parties  should  be  a  competitive  func- 
tion, it  had  immediately  become  a  point  of  honour 
with  each  side  to  secure  the  largest  and  most  perfect 
tree,  the  handsomest  and  most  tasteful  decorations 
and  the  richest  and  most  numerous  presents.  And 
later  there  would  of  course  arise  the  equally  impor- 
tant questions  of  which  party  was  most  largely  at- 
tended and  which  Santa  Claus  had  the  largest  paunch 
and  the  joUiest  voice.  Of  course  no  accurate  meas- 
urements or  counts  would  ever  be  taken  on  these 
points;  Washtucna  would  prefer  to  dispute  about 
them  for  months  afterwards  on  purely  general 
grounds.  She  would  no  more  consent  to  measure 
such  things  than  to  count  a  young  girl's  eyelashes  or 
calculate  the  force  with  which  a  baby  grips  its 
father's  thumb.  Fancy  the  sacrilege  of  laying  a  tape 
line  on  the  belly  of  Santa  Claus. 

Competition  did  its  best  and  then  a  voice  of  sanity 
issued  from  an  entirely  unexpected  throat  and  sug- 
gested co-operation.  If  it  had  come  with  warning 
Washtucna  would  have  disregarded  the  voice,  for 
on  principle  Washtucna  disliked  co-operation  and 
would  have  been  prepared  to  argue  it  down.     But  it 


2o6  CAM  CLARKE 

did  not.  It  was  Miss  May  Caylor  who  spoke.  At 
about  the  last  noon  before  Christmas  Eve,  she  ap- 
peared, wearing  her  brightest  colours  of  gown  and 
complexion,  before  a  committee  of  leading  Saints 
which  was  sitting  in  consultation  in  the  room  over 
Jan  Havland's  saloon  making  final  plans. 

Miss  Caylor's  appearance  was  unexpected,  for 
women  of  her  trade,  even  in  Washtucna,  were  not 
supposed  to  be  much  interested  in  Christmas  trees. 
The  men  shuffled  uneasily:  some  of  them  had  wives 
who  would  not  understand  such  interviews.  Miss 
Caylor  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette.  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc  frowned,  stood  up,  put  both  hands  in  his  hip 
pockets  and  asked  her  with  solemn  courtesy  how  "  we 
can  serve  you."  Miss  Caylor  crossed  her  knees  and 
inhaled  deeply  of  her  cigarette. 

"  Gents,"  said  she  calmly,  "  these  are  going  to  be 
the  damnedest  Christmas  trees  I've  ever  seen.  Who 
are  they  for  anyway?  That's  what  I  ask.  For 
what  purpose  are  they  erected?  Who's  to  get  the 
benefit?" 

Mr.  Beauclerc  remarked  suavely  that  the  Saints' 
tree,  at  least,  was  mainly  for  the  children. 

Miss  Caylor  flared  up.  "For  the  children,  eh? 
So  that's  the  reason  you  have  two  of  'em  simultane- 
ous, so  the  children  can't  see  but  one.  And  there 
ain't  but  about  thirty  kids  near  Washtucna  anyway, 
which  is  just  enough  to  have  fun;  an'  you'll  keep  half 
of  'em  separate  from  the  other  half,  sort  of  to  make 
'em  good  an'  lonesome  I  s'pose.  Why  in  hell  fire 
don't  you  have  'em  sequently?  one  after  the  other, 
so's  all  the  kids  can  go  to  all  the  trees  ?     Now,  gents, 


CAM  CLARKE  207 

why  don't  you  ?  —  as  one  commonsense  sport  to  an- 
other, why  don't  you  ?  " 

The  Saints'  committee  saw  the  point.  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc  mumbled  sort  of  an  approval.  "  Naturally," 
said  he,  ending  severely,  "  naturally,  however,  I'm 
opposed  to  those  evil-doing  cattle  — " 

"  Cut  it  out!  "  said  Miss  Caylor  disgustedly,  and 
she  took  out  a  powder  puff  and  smeared  her  nose 
rather  ungracefully,  *'  cut  it  out !  Suppose  I  were  to 
fix  up  such  arrangements  of  co-operation  with  these 
Sinner  bums,  will  you  stay  with  me  ?  Will  you  make 
good?"  She  lighted  her  cigarette  again  and  again 
crossed  her  legs  in  a  way  more  instructive  to  anato- 
mists than  pleasing  to  a  moralist. 

The  Saints  said  they  would,  and  Miss  Caylor  by 
arts,  subterfuges,  fraud  and  other  perfectly  legiti- 
mate female  weapons  actually  succeeded  in  less 
than  an  hour  in  making  arrangements  with  Judge 
Rusher  and  the  Sinners  whereby  these  events,  said 
the  Judge,  "  will  be  pulled  off  in  tandem  "  instead 
of  side  by  side.  "  But  you'll  note,"  continued  he, 
"  that  both  of  'em  are  still  hooked  up  to  the  chariot 
of  Washtucna's  happiness,  which  Washtucna  loses 
nothing  and  the  kids  gain."  And  thereby  the  full 
glory  of  both  these  Christmas  trees  was  guaranteed 
to  every  child  in  Washtucna.  But  I  am  told  that  two- 
thirds  of  the  adult  attendants  at  these  festivals  of 
**  peace  on  earth  "  carried  concealed  weapons  in  or- 
der to  be  prepared  for  emergencies. 

The  question  of  which  tree  should  be  first  stripped 
of  its  wealth  was  left  to  the  arbitration  of  the  dice 
box;  and  as  Mr.  Beauclerc  threw  four  sixes  to  Judge 


2o8  CAM  CLARKE 

Rusher's  four  trays,  the  crowd,  consisting  of  the 
whole  town,  appeared  first  in  Havland's  Hall  and 
later  at  the  Methodist  Church. 

Christmas  Eve  was  as  clear  and  as  excessively  cold 
as  it  should  be  and  Washtucna,  as  I  have  implied, 
without  any  exception  whatever,  attended  the  Christ- 
mas trees.  There  were  absolutely  no  absentees,  not 
even  Jan  Havland  or  his  bar-keeper  or  Miss  May 
Caylor.  It  is  true,  however,  that  these  three  per- 
sons sat  together  in  a  somewhat  embarrassed  lone- 
liness, which  was  enhanced  when  Miss  May  Cay- 
lor, who  was  the  only  grown  person  to  receive  a 
present  from  the  Saints'  tree,  was  presented  with  a 
locket  and  chain.  As  this  present  was  being  be- 
stowed by  the  hand  of  Santa  Claus  himself,  that 
pleasant  old  gentleman  spoke  in  the  voice  of  Mr. 
Tinling,  the  station  agent,  a  few  words  of  explana- 
tion of  the  unusual  honour  which  was  being  con- 
ferred. These  remarks,  I  need  not  relate,  had  not 
the  general  approval  of  the  married  ladies  of  Wash- 
tucna, as  married  ladies  in  general  are  absolutely  op- 
posed to  any  kindness  to  May  Caylors. 

"  Gents  and  ladies,"  said  he  in  a  frank  voice, 
"  Santa  Claus  has  found  this  article  yere,  in  his 
pack,  which  it  was  put  in  by  accident  on  purpose  on 
account  of  her  noble  idea  of  despatching  this  Christ- 
mas festivity  as  two  trains  with  a  reasonable  interval 
between  'em,  instead  of  tryin'  to  run  'em  both  on  the 
same  track  simultaneously,  which  would  result  in 
more  or  less  ditching  both  trains,  to  the  great  incon- 
venience of  the  children,  which  are  the  real  passen- 
gers, as  a  fellow  might  say.  Miss  Caylor,  here's  to 
you!" 


CAM  CLARKE  209 

Miss  Caylor  received  the  present  with  perfect 
composure,  while  several  of  the  younger  children  ex- 
pressed wonder  at  the  remarkable  mimical  powers 
possessed  by  a  Santa  Claus  who  could  "  talk  exactly 
like  Mr.  Tinling,"  and  it  showed  Santa  Claus  liked 
Mr.  Tinling  and  they  did  too. 

Cam  and  I  were  sitting  between  Sarah  Clarke  and 
big  John  Bradford,  which  latter  person  was,  to 
our  intense  admiration,  again  in  evening  dress. 
**  This,''  said  Sarah  Clarke,  "  is  rather  better  than  I 
thought  human  nature  could  do  —  do  not  you  think 
so?  Did  you  think  respectable  people  would  allow 
each  other  to  be  decent  this  way?  Doesn't  this  town 
out-do  itself?     It  is  almost  Christian." 

The  first  party  being  finished,  the  company  pres- 
ently adjourned  to  the  new  church,  which  was  the  old 
school  house,  where  the  Sinners'  tree,  as  radiant  as 
tinsel  and  light  can  be,  was  waiting.  As  the  party 
walked  along,  singularly  but  none  the  less  easily  and 
naturally  Sarah  Clarke  fell  into  step  with  Miss  Cay- 
lor and  they  chatted  like  old  friends,  while  John 
Bradford  and  Cam  and  I  walked  behind.  What 
Washtucnans  thought  of  it  I  know  not,  I  only  can 
guess. 

Again  we  came  in,  in  clouds  of  steam,  from  the 
frigid  ice  and  snow  garbed  world  to  the  warm  region 
near  the  great  box  stove.  Again  the  children  were 
smothered  with  presents;  never  were  such  rich  chil- 
dren, rich  past  belief.  There  was  everything:  cloth- 
ing and  boots  and  toys  and  candy  —  everything  a 
child  could  desire  and  some  things  which  were  better 
than  desirable,  things  which  were  useful.  Best  of 
all  for  me  and  my  brothers  and  sisters  was  clothing. 


2IO  CAM  CLARKE 

We  were  warmly  clad  for  the  rest  of  that  winter  and 
that  is  a  blessing,  indeed,  past  understanding  to  him 
who  has  never  been  cold.  And,  again,  as  before, 
Santa  Claus  came  down  personally  to  Miss  May 
Caylor  and  this  time  he  had  a  book  for  her.  That 
lady  upon  hearing  her  name  again  called  for  a  pres- 
ent quite  lost  the  cool  composure  which  she  had 
hitherto  maintained.  It  was  one  stroke  of  kindness 
too  much.  She  grew  very  pale,  tears  rolled  down 
her  face  and  then  in  a  great  fit  of  sobbing  she  fled  the 
room.  Cam  and  I  did  not  understand,  but  we  no- 
ticed that  hers  were  not  the  only  tears,  that  John 
Bradford's  face  was  set  very  hard  and  that  many 
men  shuffled  their  feet  uneasily,  that  others  swore 
softly  and  gently  and  that  a  general  air  of  sympathy 
and  warmth  and  kindness  seemed  drawing  every  one 
together  —  drawing  to  all  of  us  poor  Miss  May  Cay- 
lor, who  had  fled  home  through  the  bitter  night. 
Even  married  women  felt  it  —  indeed,  Washtucna 
was  kind-hearted  and  generous. 

Outside,  after  we  had  sung  the  last  hymn  and  had 
said  good  night,  we  found  it  snowing  a  powdery  snow. 
The  wind  came  in  strong  and  stronger  gusts,  search- 
ing you  through  and  through,  penetrating  to  your 
very  heart.  Already  the  drifts  were  piling  high. 
We  all  paused  in  the  hallway,  looking  out  critically 
and  appraising  the  weather.  Mr.  Skookum  Jones 
shook  his  head  ominously.  *'  She's  bad  lookin',"  he 
said.  "Nobody  better  ride  far  to-night;  that's 
straight.  As  for  me,  I'm  staying  with  McPethe- 
rick;  no  ten  miles  for  me.     'Tain't  safe." 

"  No,  you're  not  staying  at  a  hotel,  Mr.  Skookum, 
you're    coming    home    with    us,"    cried    fat    Mrs. 


CAM  CLARKE  211 

Rusher;  and,  "You  come  with  us,  Marti''  whis- 
pered Cam.  I  nodded  my  head  and  told  my  sister 
Annie  not  to  expect  me  home.  We  all  started  off 
and,  as  we  went,  I  heard  for  a  second  my  sister 
Mary's  hard  and  knifelike  cough.  I  did  not  un- 
derstand it,  but  Sarah  Clarke  did  and  she  winced. 

We  could  feel  the  wind  growing  almost  mo- 
mentarily stronger  and  Sarah  Clarke  found  the  little 
walk  so  hard  a  fight  that  big  John  Bradford  finally 
picked  her  up  as  you  would  a  child  and  swung  off,  with 
Cam  and  me  trotting  to  keep  up.  He  put  her  down 
inside  her  own  door,  said  good  night  rather  gruffly 
and  was  off  again  into  the  wintry  night.  When  we 
came  to  look  at  Sarah  Clarke  there  was  a  look  of 
singular  exaltation  on  her  thin  face,  hectic  spots  were 
in  her  cheeks  and  her  eyes  were  as  bright  as  the  cold 
stars  and  as  warm  as  young  life  itself. 

All  night  the  wind  rattled  fiercely  at  the  casements 
and  in  the  morning  we  looked  out  into  the  greatest 
blizzard  the  Palouse  Country  has  ever  seen.  It  was 
the  top  tide  of  elemental  severity:  the  drifts  piled 
higher  and  higher  and  the  frosts  drove  us  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  great  box  stoves.  You  could  not 
visit  even  your  neighbours;  but  it  was  cosy  and 
homelike,  games  by  the  fireside  and  talk  and  talk 
and  Sarah  Clarke  with  that  new  look  on  her  face  — 
and  yet  she  looked  thinner  than  ever,  less  of  this 
earth.  Trains  ceased  to  run,  stock  starved  and 
froze  on  the  ranges;  even  the  food  supply  of  men 
ran  low.  Snow,  snow,  snow  and  frost  extending 
forever. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  spirit  of  genuine,  unquestioning  partizan- 
ship  had  really  been  rather  weak  in  Wash- 
tucna's  heart  since  the  death  of  Jim  Lent 
at  the  door  of  Jan  Havland's  saloon :  the  Christmas 
co-operation  was  an  evidence  of  this.  The  cold  of 
that  winter  finally  froze  this  spirit  to  death.  Never- 
theless in  the  very  end  of  the  winter  it  temporarily 
rose  again  in  such  splendid  vigour  that  for  a  time  it 
threatened  to  throw  Washtucna  into  internal  war. 
This  danger  of  war  being  suddenly  extinguished  by 
the  nature  of  the  circumstances,  partizanship  rapidly 
faded  again  and  waned  and  this  time  when  it  died  it 
was  dead. 

The  immediate  occasion  of  this  last  outburst  of 
hostility  was  the  loss  by  theft  to  Mr.  Deep  Creek 
Peterson  of  his  beautiful  Hamiltonian  mare  Nellie. 
I  am,  you  see,  laying  the  blame  on  the  thief.  I 
might  lay  It  on  Peterson,  for  it  was  considered  In- 
human by  Palousers  in  those  days  to  tempt  men  with 
such  horse  flesh  as  Nellie.     But  I  absolve  Peterson. 

Nellie  was  taken  from  her  barn  one  night  late 
In  February  without,  so  far  as  witnesses  could  say, 
leaving  any  trace  whatever  as  to  where  or  with 
whom  she  had  gone.  Deep  Creek  Peterson  was 
broken  hearted.  He  had  bred  and  raised  her  him- 
self at  his  Creek  ranch  at  great  expense  of  time  and 
trouble,  and  now  he  was  at  once  as  sorrowful,  In- 

212 


CAM  CLARKE  213 

dignant  and  vengeful  as  if  you  had  taken  away  to 
slavery  two  or  three  of  his  numerous  yellow-haired 
children.  To  indicate  the  extent  of  his  sorrow  he 
remarked  some  hundreds  of  times  to  every  person 
he  saw  that  "  Nellie  vas  the  look  of  mine  eyes.'* 
And  he  often  earnestly  conversed  upon  the  intensity 
of  his  desire  to  help  hang  the  man  who  stole  her. 

Now  Deep  Creek  Peterson  was  by  politics  and  re- 
ligion an  ardent  Sinner.  He  had  not  in  the  least 
slackened  his  enthusiastic  partizanship.  He  was  a 
Sinner  for  life,  and  so  firm  a  one  that  next  in  his 
sturdy  affections  after  his  family  and  the  mare  Nellie 
came  Judge  Rusher  and  the  whole  institution  of  Sin- 
nerdom.  It  was  natural  under  such  circumstances 
that  he  should  suspect  a  Saint  or  Saints  of  having 
stolen  his  horse,  and  so  it  was  natural  also  that  he 
should  go  immediately  to  consult  with  Judge  Rusher 
as  to  what  steps  looking  to  recovery  and  revenge 
he  ought  to  take.  Now  it  had  happened  that  in  the 
past  Mr.  Deep  Creek  Peterson  had  sojourned  for  a 
number  of  years  in  the  pan-handle  of  Texas  at  a 
time  when  Mr.  Bob  Dalton,  as  a  boy,  was  learning 
to  punch  cattle  in  that  sunburned  land.  Deep  Creek 
remembered,  as  he  talked  with  Judge  Rusher,  that 
young  Bob  Dalton  had  been  requested  by  a  self-ap- 
pointed committee  to  leave  Texas  on  account  of  hav- 
ing been  seen  in  earnest  conversation  with  a  man 
who  was  caught  in  the  possession  of  a  horse  belong- 
ing to  Alfalfa  Bill  Hayward  of  Waco  —  or  some 
such  person  of  some  such  place.  This  gentleman 
caught  with  the  horse  was  very  properly  hanged  at 
the  suggestion  of  said  self-appointed  committee ;  but, 
as  it  was  a  merciful  committee,  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  in 


214  CAM  CLARKE 

consideration  of  his  youth  and  lack  of  guile  was  only 
requested  to  vamoose  and  to  never  talk  to  such  peo- 
ple again. 

Mr.  Deep  Creek  Peterson  as  he  prodded  up  his  re- 
calcitrant and  soggy  memory  was  further  able  to 
remember  that  there  were  not  wanting  people  in 
Texas  who,  on  the  occasion  of  the  above  described 
events,  had  desired  also  to  hang  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  on 
a  chance.  But  you  can  not  hang  a  child :  a  fact  which 
Deep  Creek  now  lamented  to  Judge  Rusher  in  some 
rude  similes,  mentioning  the  killing  of  young  rattle- 
snakes as  virtuous  acts. 

All  the  above  reminiscences  were  laid  before 
Judge  Rusher.  To  a  Sinner  the  conclusion  was  per- 
fectly logical  that  Mr.  Bob  Dalton,  who  was  a  Saint 
and  a  natural  object  of  suspicion  anyhow,  had  lifted 
Deep  Creek's  mare  because  he  once  in  Texas  had 
talked  to  a  man  who  perhaps  was  a  thief.  Judge 
Rusher  lamented  the  harsh  conclusion,  for  he  liked 
Bob  Dalton;  but  he  could  not,  of  course,  let  small 
preferences  stand  in  the  way  of  duty,  nor  blind 
prejudice  vote  down  clear  eyed  logic.  No,  sir!  Of 
course  he  would  see  that  Bob  had  a  fair  trial.  He 
would  concede  a  point:  Bob  should  have  a  "  legal  " 
trial,  an  actual  legal  trial.  He  should  be  appre- 
hended by  the  officers  of  the  law  and  fairly  tried 
and  in  due  form ;  and  the  Judge's  lips  came  together 
so  tight  that  there  was  just  a  little  blue  line  to  show 
where  they  met.  The  Judge  was  a  firm  man,  not  to 
say  stubborn,  as  you  could  see  by  this  little  blue  line. 

Mr.  Sam  Stimson  was  the  sheriff  and  a  Saint.  By 
Judge  Rusher's  advice  Deep  Creek  rode  to  Colfax 
to  see  and  lay  his  case  before  Stimson.    Now  Stimson 


CAM  CLARKE  215 

had  a  Saint^s  prejudices  instead  of  a  Sinner's.  And, 
indeed,  it  was  rather  a  sickly  case  taken  altogether; 
so  Stimson  laughed  a  good  healthy  laugh  and  said 
the  whole  complaint  was  ridiculous.  Nevertheless, 
there  was  at  that  time  one  crime  at  which  a  Palouse 
county  sheriff  must  not  look  lightly  and  that  crime 
was  horse  stealing.  You  must  give  every  man  a 
good  chance  to  be  convicted,  by  himself  or  others,  of 
horse  stealing.  Sam  Stimson  admitted  this  on  sec- 
ond thought  and  said  he  would  arrest  Bob  if  Deep 
Creek  desired  it;  but  if  no  more  substantial  evidence 
were  brought  forth  at  the  trial,  he  would  arrange 
personally  to  have  Mr.  Peterson  ridden  on  a  rail 
and  tarred  and  feathered.  This  he  considered  was 
but  the  plain  duty  of  a  fair  minded  sheriff.  Mr. 
Peterson  accepted  the  wager,  as  it  were,  with  pa- 
tient and  gentle  enthusiasm. 

Sam  Stimson  was  no  laggard.  That  was  one  of 
the  reasons  he  was  sheriff.  He  was  off  on  his  fa- 
mous roan  horse  that  same  afternoon  and  that  night 
he  had  supper  at  the  Tennessee  Restaurant  at  Wash- 
tucna  in  the  company  of  Mr.  McPetherick  and 
Doc  Punts.  He  did  not  divulge  to  them  his  er- 
rand. Later  he  took  two  drinks  at  Jan  Havland's, 
toasted  himself  at  the  stove  and  then  cheerfully  rode 
out  into  the  crisp  night  towards  Bob  Dalton's  little 
ranch.  Bob  Dalton  lived  two  miles  above  Wash- 
tucna  in  Doncaster  Gulch  on  the  Spokane  stage 
road. 

Punts  saw  Stimson  go  up  the  stage  road  humming 
a  song  with  that  fine  tenor  voice  so  justly  admired 
by  his  friends  the  ladies ;  and  none  in  Washtucna  that 
night  ever  saw  him  alive  again.     But  as  Tom  War- 


2i6  CAM  CLARKE 

ren  was  riding  horseback  to  Washtucna  early  next 
morning  the  mare  Nan  gave  a  great  jump  and  a 
snort  just  as  they  crossed  a  little  ravine.  Tom  was 
almost  unseated.  Glancing  back  he  saw  half  buried 
in  the  snow,  face  downward,  the  heavily  clad  body  of 
a  man.  It  was  gallant  Sam  Stimson's  body  and  he 
lay  about  a  half  mile  from  Dalton's  ranch,  just  where 
you  turn  off  from  the  main  road;  and  there  were  two 
revolver  wounds  on  his  body,  both  deadly. 

Tom  secured  men  to  help  and  he  and  they 
brought  the  body  into  Washtucna.  As  the  word  of 
Tom's  grim  find  went  the  rounds,  armed  men  again 
flowed  into  the  town.  And  now,  though  partizan- 
ship  was  deemed  to  be  behind  this  death,  Wash- 
tucna for  the  first  time  rose  wholly  above  partizan- 
ship  and  asked  with  a  hundred  voices  for  plain  and 
simple  justice.  There  was  now  no  thought  or  talk 
of  Saints  and  Sinners  amongst  those  who  rode  in 
through  the  melting  and  slushy  snow  that  sunny 
afternoon,  but  they  nevertheless  all  looked  very  de- 
termined and  grim.  A  Saint  sheriff  was  dead,  a 
Sinner's  horse  was  stolen,  and  without  doubt  these 
things  were  done  by  one  and  the  same  person.  Also, 
to  Washtucnans  in  general  it  seemed  certain  that  the 
person  must  be  Bob  Dalton ;  so  certain  that  although 
both  Saints  and  Sinners  liked  him  well,  only  those 
friends  of  Bab  Dalton's  heart,  Pete  Barker,  Doc 
Punts  and  John  Bradford,  voiced  their  doubts. 

Mr.  Pete  Barker  opined  in  the  face  of  the  town 
that  Bob  was  as  "  mild  as  milk  and  never  killed  no 
man,"  while  Punts  more  boldly  said  the  man  lied 
who  said  Bob  Dalton  would  murder  Sam  Stimson. 
John  Bradford  spoke  earnestly  everywhere  and  to 


CAM  CLARKE  217 

every  one  for  a  fair  trial  and  time  for  mature  con- 
sideration. "It  is  not  only  justice,  it's  business," 
he  said;  an  argument  which  wins  many  so-called 
hard-headed  people. 

But  extensive  consideration  and  thought  was  not 
Washtucna's  habit.  She  was  violent.  If  anything 
were  wrong  she  proposed  to  fix  it  at  once.  She 
was  radical.  Hence,  in  spite  of  John  Bradford,  the 
court  of  "  Judge  Lynch  "  was  convoked  and  a  com- 
mittee of  four  was  appointed  to  escort  Mr.  Dalton 
before  the  court  for  trial;  the  court  to  sit  in  Jan  Hav- 
land's  Hall  over  the  saloon  where  but  a  little  time 
back  we  had  gathered  for  the  Saints'  Christmas  tree ; 
trial  to  take  place  that  very  night  if  the  prisoner 
could  be  produced. 

The  messengers  of  the  court  found  Mr.  Bob  Dal- 
ton without  difficulty.  He  was  sitting  by  his  own 
bachelor  fireside  teaching  a  very  little  pig  to  do  card 
tricks.  He  was  greatly  surprised,  it  appeared,  at  the 
errand  of  this  party  but  he  was  mild  and  gentle  and 
even  cheerful  and  docile,  which  was  a  comfort  to  the 
committee,  who  had,  as  they  approached,  rather  won- 
dered which  ones  of  them  he  would  try  to  shoot  first. 
And  they  had  felt  some  concern,  for  he  was  a  shame- 
fully good  shot.  "  Of  co'se,"  said  he  in  faint  ex- 
postulation, "  I'm  an  innocent  pa'ty,  but  a  co'te,  as 
I  understand  jestice,  is  alius  privileged  to  try  any 
man  it  wants  to :  an'  no  one  admires  *  Judge  Lynch  ' 
more'n  me;  no  sir!  I'll  be  with  you  all  just  di- 
rectly." Having  tied  a  bandana  hankerchief  around 
his  neck  with  unusual  care,  adjusted  a  poker  chip  in 
the  knot,  combed  his  hair  and  plastered  it  down  until 
his  appearance  was  injured  as  much  as  possible,  he 


21 8  CAM  CLARKE 

showed  the  gentlemen  of  the  committee  how  Tim  the 
pig  could  tell  the  three  of  hearts  from  the  ace. 
Then  he  saddled  his  frozen  eared  pony  Monte  and 
trotted  off  more  like  the  leader  of  the  party  than  a 
prisoner. 

When  about  a  hundred  yards  distant  from  the 
house  one  of  the  committee  as  an  afterthought  asked 
Bob  to  turn  over  his  revolvers.  This  he  did  very 
courteously  and  for  a  moment  the  committee  felt 
shamefaced  at  the  irregularity  of  the  whole  proceed- 
ing. There  were  two  empty  shells  in  one  revolver, 
which  Mr.  Dalton  said  had  been  fired  the  night  be- 
fore at  a  most  **  annoyin'  "  coyote.  But  as  it  had 
so  happened  that  Sam  Stimson  had  been  shot  just 
twice,  the  committee  looked  at  each  other  more 
grimly  and  spread  around  Bob,  so  that  thereafter 
he  looked  more  like  a  prisoner  and  less  like  the  cap- 
tain of  the  troop.  There  was  naturally  but  little 
conversation,  men  were  having  their  thoughts. 

It  was  dark  when  the  little  cavalcade  clattered  in 
the  cloud  of  its  own  vapour  over  Washtucna's  frozen 
streets.  Washtucna  was  quiet  but  populous  with 
determined  looking  men  and  the  court  was  already 
met  and  cleared  for  business.  Bob  Dalton  appears 
to  have  been  very  unconcerned  and  cool  as  he  arrived 
in  town,  but  he  was  in  no  wise  facetious.  No  doubt 
he  realized  his  danger.  He  tied  his  own  horse  and 
led  the  way  up  the  rickety  stairs  which  were  ap- 
pended to  the  outside  of  Jan  Havland's  Hall  to  save 
space ;  and  a  great  many  men  followed  him  up. 

The  court,  which  was  composed  more  by  accident 
than  elsewise  of  twenty-one  members,  was  seated  at 
a  long  shining  table  dimly  lighted  by  two  oil  lamps 


CAM  CLARKE  219 

requisitioned  from  Jan  Havland's  back  rooms  below. 
At  the  head  of  the  table  as  "  Judge  Lynch  "  was  Mr. 
Tom  Woods,  a  bearded  old  pioneer,  distinguished 
for  his  fairness,  his  taciturnity  and  his  common  sense, 
and  not  to  a  lesser  extent  for  the  extraordinary  un- 
kemptness  of  his  person.  The  court  room  became 
very  silent  when  Bob  Dalton  entered. 

"  Mr.  Robert  Dalton,"  said  Tom  Woods  sol- 
emnly, "  you'll  excuse  this  court  while  it  recites  the 
case  agin  ye,  which  it's  as  follows.  That  you  were 
onct  a  Texan  but  were  driv  from  that  State  on  ac- 
count of  keepin'  associates  with  hoss-thieves.  Now 
a  hoss  has  been  cut  out  an'  run  off  from  Mr.  Deep 
Creek  Peterson's  ranch,  which  this  here  community 
figgers  out  you  have  absorbed  in  accordance  with 
habits  acquired  in  Texas:  and  it  accuses  you  of  it. 
Further,  it  is  held  to  be  a  fair  certain  surmise  that  you 
shot  up  Sheriff  Stimson  last  night  as  he  was  comin' 
to  arrest  you  for  complicity  in  the  felonious  proceed- 
in's  connected  with  Peterson's  hoss.  Which  shoot- 
in'  is  the  cause  of  Sam  Stimson  dyin'  and  lyin'  in  the 
snow  ontil  discovered  by  Tom  Warren  this  mornin'. 
And  further  yet,  on  bein'  rounded  up  you  all's  gun 
has  two  empty  shells,  which  is  the  number  of  holes 
discerned  in  Stimson  deceased,  which  you  account  for 
by  sayin'  you  been  shootin'  coyotes  and  which  this 
court  holds  to  be  ridiculous  and  not  so." 

There  was  some  shuffling  and  changing  of  posi- 
tions, at  the  end  of  which  John  Bradford  and  Pete 
Barker  were  observed  to  have  taken  station  on  either 
side  of  the  accused  and  close  to  him.  Mr.  Bob  Dal- 
ton was  somewhat  pale  but  when  he  spoke  his  voice 
was  firm  and  unshaken. 


220  CAM  CLARKE 

"  Gents,''  said  he  deliberately  with  a  faint  smile, 
"  I  admit  Fm  from  Texas,  which  if  it's  a  crime  it 
will  reduce  the  population  of  the  world  a  heap,  for 
they  are  Texans  scattered  around  everywhere.  And 
I  admit  that  in  my  childhood  I  once  talked  to  a  hoss- 
thief  there  and  was  permitted  to  vamoose  instead  of 
bein'  hung,  which  act  of  extraordinary  mercy  I  s'pose 
has  been  recollected  by  Mr.  Deep  Creek  Peterson 
himself.  As  for  bein'  the  reg'lar  consort  of  that 
hoss-thief,  it  ain't  so.  I  was  just  ign'rant  an'  didn't 
know  a  hoss-thief  from  a  badger,  which  this  com- 
munity is  sim'lar.  As  f'r  stealin'  Deep  Creek's  boss, 
I  didn't  ever  do  it.  I  was  stayin'  in  my  own  shack 
trainin'  my  pig  Tim,  which  I  could  prove  an  alibi, 
as  the  lawyer  sharps  say,  if  I  had  Tim  trained  up 
high  enough  to  talk;  but  I  ain't  that  far  along  with 
him  yet.  Likewise  with  last  night;  I  was  home,  ex- 
cept that  just  before  sunset  I  lopes  across  towards 
Pine  Creek  feelin'  sort  of  stagnant,  like  an  old  mud 
hole,  as  it  were,  from  the  mental  effort  of  trainin' 
Tim ;  and  Monte,  which  is  my  Kuetin,  my  cayuse,  as 
you  might  say,  only  he's  mustang,  scares  up  a  coyote, 
at  which  I  shoots  twice  and  misses  both  shots,  bein' 
poor  shootin',  too.  And  them  is  the  missin'  bullets 
which  this  co'te's  sagacity  has  ferreted  out,  but  they 
never  came  nigh  Sam  Stimson,  who  was  a  pal  of 
mine,  and  respected  and  well  liked  by  me  as  by  other 
people.  I  may  say,  however,  that  about  eight 
o'clock  last  night,  as  I  was  smokin'  and  readin'  last 
week's  paper  agin  for  the  fifth  time,  I  hears  two  ad- 
ditional shots,  which  come  from  the  road,  apparently, 
but  I  give  'em  no  heed,  sayin'  the  boys  are  shootin' 
off  some  insulators  from  the  telegraph  poles.     And 


CAM  CLARKE  221 

I  go  to  bed.  And  them,  I  anticipate,  are  the  shots 
which  get  Sam,  which  I  wish  I  had  knowed  it  then; 
in  which  case  I  might  of  brought  in  the  real  crim'nal 
instead  of  bein'  brung  in  myself. 

"  And  now,  gents,  these  are  facts.  I  regret  it  a 
heap  if  they  don't  impress  the  co'te  with  my  innocence 
the  same  as  they  do  me.  The  same,  I  realize,  may 
result  in  me  bein'  hanged,  and  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
sayin'  that  I  hav  made  other  plans  for  my  life,  which 
hangin'  would  interfere  with.  Therefore,  I  may  say 
I'll  protest  on  this  hangin'  business,  though  if  the 
co'te  don't  heed  my  protest  I  don't  bear  no  malice  or 
harbour  hatred,  as  I  realize  that  my  facts  ain't  exactly 
inspiritin'.  Further,  I  would  say  that  if  there  is  any 
doubt  in  the  minds  of  the  co'te  that  can  be  cleared 
that  way,  I'll  give  my  personal  guarantee  that  my 
words  is  true  and  sound  and  without  defects,  that  I 
never  stole  that  boss  and  never  shot  Sam  Stimson." 

He  sat  down  on  a  high  stool  amidst  a  buzz  of 
interest.  His  last  words  had  probably  impressed  the 
court  more  in  his  favour  than  anything  else  he  or 
any  one  had  said.  Bob  Dalton's  *'  guarantee  "  was 
ordinarily  considered  to  be  worth  face  value.  "  I 
don't  rec'lect  that  Bob  ever  lied  to  anybody,"  com- 
mented Mr.  Skookum  Jones  thoughtfully,  and  several 
other  members  had  a  similar  thought  in  mind.  Still, 
there  was  the  evidence ;  it  was  strong,  and  the  court 
remembered  very  clearly  that  Sam  Stimson's  charm- 
ing personality  was  wiped  off  the  slate  of  human 
affairs. 

"  All  gents  not  actually  servin'  on  this  court  will 
clear  out,  givin'  opportunity  for  deliberation  and 
cogitation,"  announced  Mr.  Woods.     "  The  prison- 


222  CAM  CLARKE 

er'll  be  guarded  by  the  committee  which  has  captured 
him,  and  they'll  wait  down  in  Jan  Havland's." 

Obedient  to  this  decree,  the  interested  spectators 
were  cast  out  into  the  chilly  streets,  while  the  court 
deliberated. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE  foregoing  events  had  woven  themselves 
into  the  fabric  of  Washtucna's  history  without 
the  cognizance  of  Cam  or  me.  Our  nose  for 
news  for  once  missed  a  scent.  We  had  not  heard 
or  seen  a  thing  of  the  trial,  and  I  am  able  to  describe 
it  in  such  detail  only  by  consulting  old  files  of  The 
JVashtucna  Breeze  and  The  Sun,  both  of  which  publi- 
cations reported  the  happenings  with  a  fidelity  much 
at  variance  with  their  usual  habit;  for,  as  I  have  re- 
marked, the  trial  was  not  a  partizan  affair. 

That  Cam  and  I  missed  these  events  is  due  to  the 
excellent  skating,  and  the  same  cause  had  kept  us 
from  school.  We  were  betrayed  by  the  hardness 
and  smoothness  of  the  Ice.  We  had  successfully 
played  hooky  from  school  all  day  and  at  night,  when 
we  came  home,  we  gobbled  some  food  and  were  off 
again  to  Mr.  Barker's  pond.  But  we  never  arrived 
there.  We  heard  voices  in  Jan  Havland's  Hall  and 
saw  lights  and  we  decided  to  have  a  look,  lest  we 
miss  something  better  than  skating. 

We  approached  the  hall  just  as  the  court  was  being 
cleared  for  deliberation.  The  first  persons  we  saw 
were  Bob  Dalton  and  his  guard  of  four  men,  into 
whose  hands  certain  alert  persons  had  slipped  double 
barrelled  shotguns.  Bob  had  been  handcuffed. 
He  came  down  the  rickety  stairs  in  somber  silence, 
his  sombrero  pulled  low  over  his  eyes.     Behind  this 

222  ^ 


224  CAM  CLARKE 

party  came  the  spectators,  twenty  or  thirty  of  them, 
and  they,  also,  were  silent.  We  were  approaching 
at  a  critical  time.  Of  course,  we  did  not  know 
what  was  happening,  but  we  surmised  that  Bob  Dal- 
ton  was  in  danger,  and,  for  my  part,  I  know  a  great 
lump  stuck  in  my  throat,  for  I  liked  Bob  Dalton 
exceedingly  well. 

We  saw  Gunnysack  Charlie  in  the  crowd  and  we 
pulled  him  aside  and  around  the  corner,  and  asked 
what  was  wrong.     "  What  are  they  doing  to  Bob?  " 

Gunnysack  took  fifteen  minutes  to  fill  and  light  his 
pipe.  I  would  have  choked  him  had  I  been  able; 
but  I  was  not,  so  I  waited. 

"  I  tell  ye,"  said  he  deliberately,  "  I  tell  ye,  bhoys, 
they  are  sayin'  he  swiped  Deep  Creek  Peterson's  bay 
mare,  the  ball  faced  wan,  and  that  he  shot  Sam 
Stimson  — " 

"  Shot  who?  "  I  asked,  horrified. 

But  Cam  grasped  my  arm  before  I  could  get  an 
answer.  '^  Come  on  quick.  Mart!  the  shots  we 
heard  last  night  —  remember  —  and  Whitey  Mc- 
Grath;  he's  here  now,  right  over  there!  Le's  see 
Doc  Punts  quick!  "  and  he  pulled  me  off  while 
Gunnysack  looked  at  us  in  astonishment. 

"  What's  the  matter  wi'  ye  wee  divils,  ye  ?  "  he 
called,  but  we  were  gone. 

Fortune  favoured  us,  for  we  almost  immediately 
ran  into  Punts  and  John  Bradford.  They  were  talk- 
ing, and  it  was  earnest  talk.  We  stopped  them,  but 
we  were  so  frightened  and  breathless  that  at  first  we 
could  not  speak.  Bradford  waited  while  Punts 
leered,  pulled  his  long  beard  to  one  side  and  grinned 
a  hideous  and  sorrowful  grin  at  us. 


CAM  CLARKE  225 

"  Is  Mrs.  Clarke  all  right?"  asked  Bradford  un- 
easily. 

**  Yes,  sir,"  said  Cam  breathlessly,  and  I  let  him 
talk.  *'  But  last  night  when  we  were  coming  home 
from  Barker's  pond  where  we'd  been  skating  —  it 
was  about  seven  o'clock  and  bright  moonlight,  and 
first  we  met  Whitey  McGrath  going  up  the  road  this 
side  of  Bob  Dalton's  on  a  bald  faced  horse  and  then 
just  In  a  minute  we  heard  two  shots  and  somebody 
called,  but  we  didn't  — " 

Punts  listened  no  further.  He  dragged  us  both 
upstairs  and  strode  unannounced  Into  the  court  room, 
John  Bradford  close  behind.  We  were  dazzled  and 
embarrassed  and  frightened. 

"  Gents,"  said  Punts,  "  these  young  fellows  here 
have  some  Interesting  experiences  to  recount,  which 
are  germane,  as  I  might  say,  to  the  principles  of 
justice  in  this  case." 

*' Bring  In  the  accused!  the  court  Is  open,"  said 
Mr.  Woods  very  promptly,  not  in  the  least  dis- 
turbed by  the  Interruption. 

Bob  Dalton,  the  guards  and  the  audience  came  In. 
*'  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Pete  Barker  when  he 
saw  Cam  and  me,  "  that  the  tender  age  of  these  chll- 
lurn  unfits  'em  for  such  stern  spectacles  as  this,  Mr. 
Woods.     Are  they  jest  here  as  spectators?  " 

"  Gents  of  the  court,"  interrupted  Punts  In  his 
grating  voice,  *'  these  boys  have  garnered  up  some 
knowledge  In  this  case  which  Is  considerable  in  excess 
of  anything  produced  by  witnesses  heretofore  heard. 
If  the  court  will  ask  'em  questions  I  expect  the  path 
of  justice  will  be  considerably  lubricated.  And  In 
the  meantime  I  ask  the  court  to  indulge  me  by  not 


226  CAM  CLARKE 

going  off  at  half  cock  and  I  also  ask  It  to  authorise 
a  couple  of  competent  citizens  to  arrest  Mr.  Whitey 
McGrath,  who  is  now  taking  a  drink  below,  and 
bring  him  up  here,  as  he'll  be  needed  sure.  And 
also  Fm  just  now  embarking  on  a  few  minutes  of 
medical  research  work  on  this  case.  But  as  I'll  be 
back  in  fifteen  minutes  or  thirty,  I'd  like  the  court  to 
stay  proceedings  for  me  if  necessary." 

"O.K.,  Doc,"  said  Mr.  Woods  pleasantly;  both 
he  and  the  court  were  interested  by  the  turn  of 
events.  "  O.K.,  Doc,  we'll  wait.  And  now  you 
all  boys  set  down  there  quiet  and  nice  and  tell  this 
here  body  of  gents  what  you  know  about  this  case, 
and  be  real  careful  to  be  truthful,  for  it's  important." 

I  was  rattled.  I  could  not  have  spoken  to  save 
my  life.  But  Cam,  as  usual,  was  rather  self-pos- 
sessed, although  I  did  see  him  swallow  extra  hard. 

"  Well,  it's  this  way,"  said  he,  and  he  swallowed 
again;  "  it's  like  this:  Mart  and  Sandy  and  I  had 
been  skating  last  night  on  Barker's  pond,  and  after- 
wards we  walked  home  on  the  stage  road.  Bimeby 
we  heard  a  horse  coming,  and  as  it  was  white,  bright 
moonlight,  we  could  see  when  he  came  up  that  it  was 
Whitey  McGrath  on  a  bald  faced  horse." 

"  Did  this  horse  have  any  marks  of  a  recognitory 
nacher?"  asked  Mr.  Deep  Creek  Peterson  with  in- 
terest. 

"  She  had  one  white  fore-foot,"  I  inserted;  "yes, 
sir,  one  white  fore-foot,  the  left  un;  it  looked  like  a 
white  sock;  and  she  was  goin'  like  the  wind,  lickety- 
split — "  to  illustrate  her  speed  I  held  out  my  dirty 
chapped  hand  and  opened  and  shut  it  several  times 
rapidly,  which  was  the  accepted  gesture  among  Pa- 


CAM  CLARKE  227 

louse  small  boys  to  indicate  rapid  riding.  The 
court,  and  even  Mr.  Bob  Dalton,  laughed  grimly. 

"Well,  what  then?''  asked  Mr.  Woods,  vigor- 
ously biting  the  end  off  a  black  cigar,  "  what  then, 
boys?  What  became  of  him.  Did  you  see  any 
more  ?  " 

*'  Well,  sir,"  continued  Cam,  "  we  went  along 
towards  home  and  pretty  soon  we  heard  two  shots 
from  up  on  the  road  where  Mr.  Bob  Dalton's  road 
turns  off,  though  we  could  not  be  sure  just  where.'' 

"  It  seems  to  me  it  must  a  been  awful  moonlight 
to  see  that  mare's  sock  so  clear,"  criticised  Skookum 
Jones  mildly. 

"  Oh,  yes,  sir,  it  was,"  agreed  Cam;  **  oh,  yes,  sir; 
for  Sandy  Rusher  read  a  poem  backwards  by  the 
moonlight,  keeping  a  frozen  egg  on  his  wart,  which 
Mr.  Gunnysack  Williams  says  will  make  'em  come 
off." 

The  court  smiled  again  and  Mr.  Gunnysack  looked 
embarrassed.  He  had  not  intended  to  make  this 
valuable  prescription  public. 

Then  the  court  made  me  tell  it.  Then  they  made 
me  tell  part  and  Cam  part;  and  then  they  sent  one 
of  us  out  of  the  room  at  a  time.  I  fancy  we  were 
pretty  close  to  agreeing,  which  I  now  think  was  a 
good  record,  better  than  two  ordinary  stupid  grown 
people  can  do,  for  it's  hard  to  tell  exactly  the  truth. 
Whitey  McGrath  was  brought  in,  but  they  sent  him 
out  until  we  had  finished,  because  they  said  he  might 
frighten  us  by  his  looks.  This,  I  believe  to  have 
been  an  irregular  proceeding,  but  *'  Judge  Lynch  " 
could  be  as  irregular  as  he  liked. 

As  we  were  finishing.  Doc  Punts  burst  exultantly 


'    228  eAM  CLARKE 

into  the  room,  his  face  wreathed  in  a  huge,  sardonic, 
devilish  smile.  It  must  have  grown  colder,  for  I 
remember  that  a  cloud  of  mist  followed  him  in. 
Feeling  the  chill,  some  one  slammed  the  door  hastily, 
and  another  person  heaved  a  log  into  the  big  stove, 
while  still  another  turned  the  light  higher  so  that 
everything  seemed  more  cheerful. 

Punts  placed  his  bony  hands  on  his  bony  hips, 
elbows  akimbo  like  the  washwomen  who  existed  be- 
fore the  advent  of  the  steam  laundry.  He  glared  at 
the  court  triumphantly. 

"  Gents,"  said  he,  "  I  see  these  boys  have  given  you 
the  right  prescription,  yes,  sir ;  and  now  I  will  give 
you  a  chaser  which  will  introduce  science  into  these 
investigations.  Punts,  M.D.,  is  vindicated.  I  have, 
from  the  first,  recognised  the  impossibility  of  my 
friend.  Bob  Dalton,  making  a  larceny  sport  out  of 
himself  and  afterwards  shooting  an  officer  of  the  law 
from  behind.  Such  a  charge  refutes  itself  in  a  brain 
of  perspicacity.  But  I  was  nonplussed,  for  not 
knowing  the  exact  proof  of  my  views.  These  boys 
furnish  the  foundation  and  Providence  casts  *em  into 
my  hand  for  its  own  purposes.  I  presents  'em  to 
you.  They  gives  you  the  truth,  the  foundation 
truth ;  me  they  give  a  hunch  which  I  follow  and  bet 
on,  so  I  can  supply  the  superstructure  to  the  evidence. 

"  Gents,  I  am  just  now  returned  from  examining 
the  corporeal  remains  of  Sam  Stimson  until  I  found 
this  bullet,  which  has  lodged  under  a  scapular  after 
doing  its  deadly  work.  I  cuts  it  out  and  brings  it 
over  and  this  is  it.  Now  I  need  hardly  point  out  to 
this  intelligent  and  experienced  community  that  she  Is 
calibre  forty-four.     And  I  invite  your  attention  with 


CAM  CLARKE  229 

this  in  mind  to  the  fact  that  Bob's  revolver  with  the 
empty  shell  in  it  is  calibre  thirty-eight.  Which  state- 
ment I  ask  the  court  to  check  and  confirm.  And  in 
the  meantime,  recollecting  the  value  of  time,  I  sug- 
gest allowing  Mr.  Pete  Barker  and  the  marshal  to 
bring  Whitey  McGrath  before  the  court,  as  I  reckon 
they're  getting  cold  outside  as  it's  frosty.  Which 
we'd  like  to  have  the  opportunity  of  examining  his 
guns." 

The  court  sighed  and  squeaked  its  chair  legs  in 
interest  and  approval  and  the  air  became  thicker  and 
thicker  with  tobacco  smoke.  The  intensity  of  the 
court's  interest  seemed  to  be  capable  of  measurement 
by  the  vigour  of  their  smoking. 

"  Sure,  bring  the  skunk  I  "  ''  Sure  I  "  *'  Sure !  " 
"  You  bet  I  "  called  various  voices,  for  Whitey  was 
no  favourite.  "  And  don't  let  him  escape ;  ammuni- 
tion is  cheaper'n  rope,"  added  another.  But  nobody 
smiled.  The  court  was  very  much  in  earnest;  it 
could  no  longer  take  a  joke. 

While  some  one  called  and  while  we  heard  the 
shaky  steps  creaking,  I  waited  in  strained  expectancy. 
I  was  afraid  of  Whitey,  but  Cam  seemed  perfectly 
self-possessed.  A  number  of  the  court  took  occa- 
sion at  this  time  to  nod  at  Bob  Dalton  kindly  and 
others  to  shake  his  hand  and  slap  his  back.  Cam 
went  up  and  shook  his  hand  like  a  little  old  grown 
person  and  Bob  shook  it  back  most  fervently  and 
tears  rolled  down  his  face.  "  By  jumping  John 
Robinson,  you  and  Mart  saved  my  life,  sure." 

Then  Whitey  McGrath  came  in  and  it  all  became 
so  silent  that  you  could  hear  the  fire  roar  up  the  rusty 
stove  pipe.     He  came  in  with  Mr.  Pete  Barker's 


230  CAM  CLARKE 

revolver  covering  the  small  of  his  back.  At  first  he 
seemed  very  little  in  fear,  very  little  impressed.  He 
was  just  sullen  and  he  growled  and  cursed  and  cast 
savage  glances  at  Cam  and  me.  Personally  I  felt 
like  lying  and  telling  the  court  it  was  all  a  mistake, 
for  I  suspected  that  Whitey  would  kill  us.  But  it 
was  too  late  for  that.  Well,  I  would  try  to  die 
right. 

"  Which  the  court  will  examine  the  gent's  weap- 
ons," said  Mr.  Woods  sharply.  Mr.  Barker 
promptly  laid  Whitey's  guns  on  the  table.  Mr. 
Woods  opened  them.  They  were  calibre  forty-four. 
No  mistake  about  that.  Mr.  Woods  thereupon 
briskly  informed  Whitey  what  evidence  was  before 
the  court  and  asked  him  if  he  had  anything  to  say  or 
any  evidence  to  introduce  before  the  court  should 
judge  him  —  if  he  had,  to  deliver  It  quick,  as  justice 
had  already  been  kept  waiting  in  the  hallway  for 
several  hours. 

Whitey  had  grown  pale  as  the  extent  of  the  evi- 
dence against  him  was  divulged,  but  he  continued 
sulky  and  he  said  that  he  had  "  no  expectation  of 
justice,"  but  that  he  was  not  guilty. 

This  touched  Mr.  Beauclerc's  anger.  "  Young 
man,"  said  he,  "  Washtucna  Is  a  community  of 
honour  wherein  justice  and  refinement  have  a  per- 
manent home.  These  proceedings  are  Informal  but 
square.  We  hope  the  accused  won't  persist  in  abuse 
of  this  body,  as  it  might  prejudice  said  body  against 
him.     We  want  him  to  have  a  fair  chance." 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Judge  Rusher  coldly,  "  I  have 
a  point  in  addition  to  bring  forth.  It  appears  that 
this  here  accused  just  dotes  on  good  horse  flesh. 


CAM  CLARKE  231 

Last  summer  he  was  seen  up  on  Seven  Devils  by  re- 
liable witnesses  riding  a  mare  of  which  I  noted  the 
description,  including  brand,  and  on  investigation  I 
believe  this  was  Dan'l  Burnham's  animal  which  was 
stolen  last  summer.  I  have  the  description  here, 
written  down.'* 

Mr.  Daniel  Burnham,  who  was  standing  by  the 
stove,  perked  up,  *'  Bay  with  anchor  *  T '  left 
stifle?  "  he  asked  before  he  saw  the  paper. 

*'  Yes,  that's  it." 

"  Sure,  that's  her,"  said  Daniel,  relapsing  into  a 
sphynx-like  expression  of  face  and  pulling  his  Httle 
moustache.  "  I  knowed  the  damn  snake  had  her 
and  I  knowed  he'd  be  got  yet." 

"  You  damn  ole  — "  started  Whitey,  but  Mr.  Pete 
Barker  squeezed  Whitey's  wind  pipe  with  his  iron 
fingers  and  Whitey  volunteered  no  further  remarks; 
indeed,  he  was  kept  busy  just  breathing. 

"  The  court  will  vote,"  announced  Mr.  Woods 
decisively.  "  Who  all  thinks  Whitey  McGrath  did 
these  offences  against  society?  " 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Me!"  and  "Mel"  and  "Me!"  said  gruff 
voices  in  solemn  echo  around  the  shining  table.  It 
was  unanimous. 

"  I  move  that  said  McGrath  be  hanged  by  the  neck 
until  dead,"  said  Judge  Rusher  firmly. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  roared  the  men  at  the  table  with  a  sud- 
den anger  leaping  into  their  voices  that  drove  every 
trace  of  colour  down  from  Whitey's  furtive  yet 
savage  face. 

That  was  all  that  I  saw.  Bob  Dalton  corralled 
us  in  his  arms  and  pushed  us  out.     Then  he  walked 


232  CAM  CLARKE 

over  to  Mrs.  Clarke's  with  Cam  and  me.  She  was 
waiting  up  and  she  was  commencing  to  be  concerned 
about  Cam,  so  she  hugged  us  both  and  asked  Bob  to 
come  in. 

"  What  detained  you?  "  she  asked  gently  of  Cam. 

Mr.  Bob  Dalton  told  her  in  his  own  language. 
She  looked  at  him,  as  he  talked,  with  a  great  horror 
written  on  her  mobile  face. 

''  I  am  so  glad,  Mr.  Dalton,"  she  said  softly,  when 
he  had  finished.  "  You  know  I  count  you  one  of  my 
best  friends.     I  am  so  glad.'' 

And  then  Mr.  John  Bradford  came  in  and  I  saw 
the  colour  come  to  Mrs.  Clarke's  thin  cheeks  and  the 
light  to  her  eyes. 

"You  did  not  go— ?" 

**  No  —  no-o;  I  don't  believe  exactly  in  that  sort 
of  thing.  I  know  he's  guilty,  but  I  don't  believe  in 
'  Judge  Lynch.'  " 

I  stayed  with  Cam  that  night,  for  I  would  have 
been  afraid  to  go  ten  feet  alone,  and  John  Bradford 
slept  on  the  sofa  downstairs,  for  Sarah  Clarke  was 
afraid.  The  last  thing  when  we  looked  out,  we  saw 
men  straggling  back  to  Washtucna  down  the  Colfax 
road.  They  and  their  shadows  looked  as  black  and 
frightful  as  witches  and  goblins  in  the  bright  moon- 
light.    Oh,  it  was  terrible. 

All  night  long  we  woke  up  in  fits  and  starts,  fancy- 
ing that  we  were  pursued  by  Whitey  McGraths. 
Once  I  dreamed  they  were  hanging  Bob  Dalton  and 
that  Whitey  McGrath  was  helping,  and  that  as  they 
went  about  the  grim  business  they  were,  in  the  perfec- 
tion of  irony,  busy  in  singing  hymns.  I  awoke  with 
a  shriek.     Once  later  Cam  awoke  and  sprang  out  of 


CAM  CLARKE  233 

bed.  Sarah  Clarke,  blessed  be  she  forever!  came  in 
often  to  put  us  back  on  our  pillows.  But,  oh,  it  was 
a  long  and  terrible  night  and  I  remember  it  yet  with 
horror. 

All  next  day  the  body  of  Whitey  McGrath  hung 
from  a  bridge  near  to  where  Sam  Stimson  was  killed 
and  no  one  cared  enough  for  him  to  cut  him  down. 
Finally  it  was  Punts  and  Bob  Dalton  who  did  the 
thing. 

"  It  might  have  been  me,  Doc,"  said  Bob 
somberly  as  he  proposed  it. 

"  Or  any  of  us,"  added  the  doctor.  "  Besides,  It's 
the  humane  and  civilized  thing  to  do,  Bob;  are  we 
Apaches?  "  Having  decided  that  we  were  not,  they 
buried  him  under  the  railroad  bridge,  almost  In  a 
stream  of  water. 

At  the  very  end  he  had  confessed  to  both  the  theft 
and  the  murder  and  had  died,  as  most  evil  men  con- 
trive to  do,  with  a  prayer  on  his  twisted  lips.  This 
was  a  great  comfort  to  Mr.  Beauclerc. 

Mrs.  Clarke  was  a  good  deal  shaken  by  It  all,  and 
Bradford  and  Punts  and  Jones  had  much  to  do  to 
cheer  her  up.  But  it  was  Bradford  who  was  most 
help  to  her:  he  was  of  her  own  brand  of  people;  he 
knew  how  she  felt  about  things. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

IT  was  about  the  time  of  the  demise  of  the  unfortu- 
nate Whitey  McGrath  that  fat  Doctor  Leffing- 
well  adopted  Washtucna  for  his  home.  Now 
Doctor  Punts  had  experienced  no  difficulty  in  keeping 
dressed  the  gunshot  wounds  of  Washtucna's  in- 
habitants nor  in  prescribing  for  the  few  people  who 
were  accommodating  enough  to  suffer  from  other 
ailments,  but  Leffingwell  evidently  thought  he  could 
make  a  living,  so  he  moved  in.  This  was  bitterly  re- 
sented by  Cam  and  Sandy  and  me  as  a  slur  on  our 
particular  friend,  Doctor  Punts.  Unable  otherwise 
to  express  our  resentment,  we  decided  to  resuscitate 
the  machinery  of  the  tick-tack,  which  had  lain  dor- 
mant since  our  unfortunate  experiment  on  the  Chinese 
laundry.  These  noises,  we  believed,  would  irritate 
the  fat  doctor  and  if  persevered  in  for  several  nights 
—  many  if  necessary  —  they  might,  indeed,  persuade 
him  to  move  on  to  Colfax,  or  to  some  other  place 
which  really  needed  a  physician.  We  talked  the 
thing  over  and  over  and  this  was  our  mature  opinion. 
Our  first  night's  experiments  were  very  entertain- 
ing and  satisfactory.  Escaping  privily  from  the 
charge  of  our  respective  parents  by  back  windows 
and  other  such  devices,  we  assembled  down  under  the 
new  warehouse  about  eleven  of  the  clock.  It  was  a 
pitch  black,  cloudy,  rather  warm  March  night. 
Washtucna,  except  Jan  Havland*s,  had  long  been 

234 


CAM  CLARKE  235 

asleep,  so  we  went  immediately  to  work.  Our  music 
on  rosin  and  string  was  instantly  productive  of  re- 
sults. A  light  flared  up  in  Leffingwell's  back  bed- 
room and  we  heard  little  Mamie  Leffingwell's  voice 
cry  out  in  terrified  tones,  then  a  man's  voice  bellowed, 
and  we  jerked  loose  the  hook  and  ran.  It  had  all 
been  very  nice  except  that  we  had  not  particularly 
liked  hearing  little  Mamie's  frightened  voice.  It 
had  not  seemed  fair  —  yet  it  was  a  public  duty,  we 
could  not  possibly  shrink  from  It.  It  was  our  duty 
to  Punts.     "  Who'll  do  him  right  now!  " 

Our  plans  for  the  next  night  were  to  reproduce  as 
nearly  as  possible  the  first  performance.  The 
events,  however,  were  complicated  by  unforeseen 
circumstances.  It  is  seldom  possible  to  reproduce 
things. 

It  happened  on  this  night  that  Mr.  Bob  Dalton 
had  sufficiently  recovered  from  the  sobering  effect  of 
his  passage  with  '*  Judge  Lynch  "  to  desire  to  enjoy 
a  fling.  *'  I  am  a  child  of  the  sun !  "  cried  he,  hilari- 
ously, "  an'  of  a  joyful  nacher;  "  and  thereupon  he 
searched  out  the  company  of  his  friend,  Mr.  Scoop 
Bender,  who  was  just  then  Idly  waiting  at  the  Ten- 
nessee Restaurant  and  Hotel  for  a  party  from  St. 
Paul  who  wished  to  be  guided  down  Into  the  Rock 
Lake  country  to  shoot  geese.  These  two  restless 
spirits  cast  themselves  fervently  into  drinking  Jan 
Havland's  whisky.  Continuing  this  occupation 
through  the  afternoon  and  evening,  they  became 
hilarious  and  so  boisterous  that  had  Mr.  Trillums, 
the  marshal,  been  In  town,  he  would  either  have  sent 
them  home,  put  them  in  the  calaboose,  or  shot  them. 
But  Mr.  Trillums  was  In  Colfax  and  he  had  left  no 


236  CAM  CLARKE 

deputy,  although  he  had  deposited  the  ^*  skookum 
house  "  key  in  the  hands  of  Gunnysack  Charlie  for 
safe  keeping.  Left  to  their  own  devices  Bob  and 
Scoop  were  simply  and  utterly  blissful  by  about  ten 
that  night. 

Their  pleasing  condition  was  entirely  unknown  to 
Cam  and  Sandy  and  me,  for  on  that  sunny  March 
Saturday  we  had  made  a  day's  excursion  to  Pine 
Creek  and  then  had  gone  promptly  home  to  supper 
and  after  that  to  bed,  so  we  had  had  no  opportunity 
to  learn  what  was  going  forward  in  town. 

But  at  ten  we  slipped  out  again  and  hooked  up  our 
noise  gear  to  the  Leffingwell  mansion.  The  first 
touch  on  it  brought  surprising  and  exciting  results. 
This  is  the  way  that  it  appeared  to  us :  that  seventeen 
lights  immediately  showed  in  seventeen  windows  and 
then  a  fat  man  seven  feet  tall,  garbed  in  a  short  night 
shirt  and  rubber  boots,  came  out  and  ran  after  us 
with  the  speed  of  the  wind. 

I  remember  to  have  felt  some  resentment  against 
events  for  the  direction  they  were  taking.  This  man 
was  chasing  us  just  as  Chinamen  did.  It  was  un- 
worthy of  the  dignity  of  the  white  race.  He  should 
have  hired  a  '*  nigger  "  to  chase  us.  Why  did  he  do 
it?  Why  was  he  allowed  to  do  it?  In  spite  of  this 
resentment,  I,  however,  adjourned  toward  the  main 
street  on  the  dead  run.  At  this  moment  I  believe  I 
felt  that  we  were  getting  more  fruits  for  our  efforts 
than  I  could  conveniently  harvest. 

I  had  no  plan.  I  just  followed  Cam.  He  had  a 
plan.  He  said  it  was  his  belief  that  no  man  would 
dare  to  appear  on  Washtucna's  main  streets  in  a  night 
shirt  and  rubber  boots.     But  Leffingwell  apparently 


CAM  CLARKE  237 

liked  It.  Cam  was  mistaken.  The  big  heathen, 
leathern-feeling  devil  would  have  gone  to  church  In  a 
bathing  suit  if  he  were  allowed.  It  Is  people  like 
him  that  make  police  necessary.  His  actions  do  not 
reflect  on  Cam's  judgment,  he  was  exceptional. 

Our  succor  came  from  an  unexpected  source,  so 
unexpected  a  source  that  you  might  call  it  providen- 
tial, provided  you  bear  in  mind  that  providence  uses 
tools  of  her  own  choosing.  Possibly,  however,  Lef- 
fingwell  would  not  call  our  deliverance  providential 
at  all ;  there  is  the  other  side  of  the  board  again. 

And,  no,  I  also  say  it  was  not  providential.  The 
fact  should  be  stated  like  this.  "  It  is  against  the 
laws  of  nature  to  chase  boys  on  Washtucna  streets." 
That  Is  more  logical.  Providence  does  not  enter. 
It  is  law,  for  it  works  all  the  time  (providence  just 
works  a  few  minutes  a  day)  and  as  it  works  all  the 
time  we  grow  to  have  instinctive  feelings  about  it, 
**  hunches  "  as  it  were.  This  Is  proved  by  the  fact 
that  to  this  day,  when  a  man  Is  bothered  by  boys  in 
Washtucna,  I  advise  him  to  remain  silent  and  endure 
it.  That  is  my  "  hunch."  After  a  while  the  boys 
will  grow  up  and  the  next  generation  of  boys  will 
find  a  new  target.  I  am  glad  to  have  this  chance  to 
clear  up  this  point;  I  may  save  grown  up  Washtuc- 
nans  from  future  trouble. 

We  were  rapidly  distancing  Doctor  Leffingwell  as 
we  passed  Jan  Havland's,  for  the  man  was  as  fat  as 
a  prize  pig,  and  speed  dwells  not  in  fat  men.  In- 
deed, we  had  gained  such  a  start  that  as  we  passed 
we  had  enough  leisure  to  notice  two  men  tightening 
their  saddle  girths  at  the  hitching  rack,  the  process 
being  aided  by  mild  profanity. 


238  CAM  CLARKE 

These  were  Bob  Dalton  and  Scoop  Bender.  They 
called  to  us,  "  Where  you  goin'  ?  Is  the  devil 
comin'?"  We  dodged  behind  William  Hoefner's 
and  peeped  around,  not  bothering  to  answer.  In 
fact,  we  felt  as  busy  as  a  railroad  president. 

"  Look  a-comin'  I ''  bawled  Scoop,  rising  and  yell- 
ing like  people  the  night  of  election.  *'  Bob,  just 
look  at  him!  " 

These  ejaculations  were  drawn  forth  by  the  ap- 
pearance under  a  lantern  of  LefBngwell,  who  was 
lumbering  along  like  a  dray,  and  breathing  like  a 
horse  with  the  heaves.  "  What  is  it?  "  He  might 
well  ask.  It  looked  like  anything  you  please.  But 
Leffingwell  did  not  pause ;  he  was  determined  to  cap- 
ture some  small  boys. 

Bob  omitted  to  answer  the  question.  "  I'll  rope 
it  some  and  mebbe  we  can  find  out  what's  the  mat- 
ter," he  volunteered,  swinging  into  the  saddle. 
Monte,  the  frozen  eared  cayuse,  gave  one  buck, 
landing  stiff  legged  from  long  habit,  and  then  stood 
on  his  toes,  while  Bob,  with  one  swift  motion,  jerked 
loose  his  rope  and  then,  with  two  deft  whirls  and  an 
insidious  flirt  of  the  fingers,  settled  the  plaited  raw- 
hide over  Doctor  Leflingwell's  bullet  head.  Bob 
took  a  turn  around  the  saddle  pommel  and  the  frozen 
eared  pony  drew  taut,  as  a  good  cow  pony  should. 
This  occurred  about  as  the  rope  reached  Doctor  Lef- 
fingwell's  stomach  line.  It  seems  to  have  been  a 
somewhat  painful  moment  to  Leffingwell,  for  he  bel- 
lowed like  a  bay  steer. 

"  This  here  human  male  gent,  which  is  what  I 
makes  it  out  to  be  by  the  dim  stars,  is  a  lot  ungentle," 


CAM  CLARKE  239 

said  Scoop  querulously,  shooting  his  revolver  at  a 
point  about  three  inches  ahead  of  Doctor  Leffing- 
well's  left  rubber  boot.  "  Fact  is,  he  probably  ain't 
ever  been  roped  previous  to  this.  He's  forchunate 
not  to  hev  struck  rough  people,  they'd  a-hurted  him 
some." 

"  Sure  he  Is,"  Bob  agreed  heartily,  "  an'  I'm  takin' 
him  for  a  little  pasear  up  an'  down  to  tame  him,"  and 
he  slapped  his  spurs  into  frozen  eared  Monte,  who 
jumped  and  jerked  Leffingwell  severely,  and  then, 
under  Bob's  skilful  hand,  jerked  him  about  a  hundred 
additional  times  until  he  was  entirely  exhausted.  Of 
course,  Leffingwell  bawled  every  step.  These  exer- 
cises covered  considerable  ground,  the  whole  street, 
indeed. 

Despite  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  a  little  group  of 
spectators  soon  gathered,  and  Cam  and  Sandy  and  I 
came  out  amongst  them.  Bob  stopped  and  Monte 
and  Leffingwell  took  breath.  It  was  so  quiet  that  I 
heard  Leffingwell's  teeth  rattle,  although  he  was 
bathed  in  perspiration. 

"  This  party  here'U  get  a  chill  if  he  ain't  kep 
movin',"  complained  Bob,  "  standin'  aroun'  un- 
garbed  's  you  might  say.  It  ain't  suitable  to  the 
climate.     I  don't  want  him  to  get  lung  fever." 

"  Doctor  Leffingwell,"  inquired  Scoop  plaintively, 
"  hev  you  ever  done  any  shoo  tin'  ?  " 

Leffingwell  managed  to  indicate,  even  in  complete 
absence  of  breath,  that  he  had  not  and  that  he  would 
prefer  never  to  do  any. 

"  Then  I'll  tell  you,"  said  Scoop,  kindly,  ''  I'm 
lendin'  you  my  revolver  an'  you  all  can  practise  on 


240  CAM  CLARKE 

some  o*  Jan  Havland's  winder  lights.  They's  too 
many  of  *em  anyway;  Fve  always  noticed  that. 
Ain't  you,  Bob?*' 

"But  — I  — I—" 

"  Oh,  no  trouble,  it's  a  pleasure,"  insisted  Scoop 
heartily,  *'  an'  the  ammunition  don't  cost  much. 
Sure  —  here  she  is.  It's  a  pleasure.  Why,  any- 
body can  shoot.  Bob's  teachin'  his  pig,  and  surely 
you  ain't  goln'  to  be  outdid  by  a  pig." 

Doctor  Leffingwell  felt  it  impossible  to  decline 
this  urgent  invitation  and  he  obediently  commenced 
blinking  out  Jan  Havland's  windows.  There  were 
those  who  afterwards  suggested  that  he  might  have 
blinked  out  Bob  or  Scoop,  but  Leffingwell  did  not 
think  of  that.  The  windows  were  a  large  target  and 
he  made  hits,  but  he  scattered  so  much  that  the  spec- 
tators withered  away. 

Those  shots  stirred  up  some  additional  life.  The 
barkeeper  yelled  like  a  Comanche  and  ran  out  the 
front  door,  although,  in  my  simple  judgment,  the 
back  door  would  have  been  safer.  Also  Long 
Doake  Burns  arose,  dressed  hastily  and  came  down 
the  street  to  Investigate,  with  a  shotgun  in  the  corner 
of  his  arm.  He  was  a  new-comer  from  Uklah,  Cali- 
fornia, and  before  that  from  the  swamps  of  Arkan- 
sas. He  had  bought  a  lot  of  real  estate  in  Wash- 
tucna. 

"  Well,  naow,"  he  drawled  sorrowfully,  "  I  just 
don't  like  this  at  all.  Fact,  I'm  sick  of  It.  Just 
cause  the  marshal  goes  away  for  a  vacation  this  here 
new  doctor  comes  prancin'  around,  dressed  indecent 
an'  howlin'  and  shootin'  things  up;  an'  I  made  up 
my  mind  I  won't  stan'  it.     No,  sir !     A  while  ago  I 


CAM  CLARKE  241 

hears  him  hollerln'  and  bellerin'  and  now  I  hears  him 
shootin'.  It's  like  Washtucna  wa'n't  a  law  abidin' 
an'  quiet  place,  which  it  is  knowed  to  be.  I  says  to 
myself,  *  Doake,  I  won't  stan'  it,'  and  that's  right, 
too.  I  won't.  Why,  he'll  run  the  price  of  real 
estate  cler  into  the  bulb  of  the  thermometer." 

Doctor  Leffingwell  looked  uncomfortable,  but  he 
could  not  enunciate,  partly  on  account  of  fright  and 
partly  on  account  of  exhaustion  and  chill. 

"  He  ought  to  be  throwed  in  jail  a  spell,"  said 
Scoop  solemnly.  *'  He  shore  has  been  actin'  up.  I 
don't  like  it  myself." 

"  The  way  he  scairt  Monte !  "  complained  Bob 
sadly.  "  And  that  horse  has  as  delicate  nerves  as  a 
woman.     It  plum  riles  me." 

**  That's  right,"  said  a  number  of  indignant  voices. 
"  That's  right,  he  ought  to  be  locked  up  and  he  would 
be  if  Trillums  was  here." 

"  Thin  in  he  goes,"  announced  Mr.  Gunnysack 
Charlie,  who  had  recently  arrived.  **  It  was  not  f'r 
nothin'  that  Mr.  Trillums  left  me  the  key  to  the  cala- 
boose; no,  sorl  'Twas  for  just  such  min  as  this; 
yes,  sorl  Give  me  your  gun,  sorl  'Tis  a  disgrace 
to  the  municipality  the  ga-arments  ye  wear.  Now 
march,  ye  divil  I  on  to  jail  I  Un  ye  with  a  woIfe  and 
childers  I     Fwhat  do  ye  mean  by  ut  ?  —  on  with  ye  I  " 

Doctor  Leffingwell  marched  and  Gunnysack  and 
Scoop  and  Bob  and  the  little  crowd  of  spectators 
followed,  we  youngsters  missing  nothing.  The 
whole  thing  was  turning  out  very  well;  perhaps  Lef- 
fingwell would  now  leave  the  field  to  Punts. 

They  shoved  Leffingwell  roughly  Into  the  one  room 
calaboose,  which  was  built  solidly  of  pine  two-by- 


242  GAM  CLARKE 

fours,  and  the  rusty  hinges  squeaked  mournfully  be- 
hind him.  I  felt  pretty  mean.  Still,  it  was  a  good 
thing  for  Punts,  I  thought. 

"  Gents,"  said  Leffingwell  pleadingly,  "  for  God's 
sake,  gents,  ge'me  some  clo'es  or  Fll  freeze."  This 
was  evidently  true,  for  his  teeth  were  chattering  as  he 
spoke.  This  touched  Mr.  Dalton.  He  spoke  in  a 
voice  shot  through  with  emotion.  **  I  know  he  ain't 
nothin'  but  a  rough  crim'nal,  but  I'm  a  soft  hearted 
pusson,  I  am,  and  I  can't  bear  sufferin'.  I'm  goin' 
to  get  him  some  clo'es.  It  ain't  any  use  to  stop  me ; 
I'm  alius  doin'  kind  deeds  like  this,"  and  he  actually 
sobbed. 

Thereupon  he  walked  his  horse  off  softly  and 
somberly  into  the  darkness  in  the  direction  of  Doc- 
tor LefEngwell's  home.  I  believe  he  really  secured 
blankets  from  Mrs.  Leffingwell,  a  mild,  bullied 
woman,  using  a  reasonable  amount  of  prevarication 
for  this  purpose  and  omitting  to  mention  that  the 
doctor  was  in  jail.  He  said  that  the  doctor  had 
found  a  sick  man  who  was  so  horribly  sick  that  he 
could  not  leave  him  for  a  moment.  He  said  further 
that  the  doctor  wanted  his  trousers,  his  overcoat  and 
two  blankets  so  he  could  stick  close  to  the  job.  She 
said  that  was  like  him,  which  in  my  experience  it  was 
not ;  it  was  more  like  Punts. 

Cam  and  I  did  not  see  the  blankets  arrive.  We 
went  home  too  soon,  being  dead  with  sleep.  I 
crawled  into  Cam's  little  back  window  with  him  and 
In  two  minutes  wc  were  both  asleep  side  by  side,  so 
sound  asleep  that  we  heard  not  one  of  the  consider- 
able noises  which  must  have  later  been  abroad  that 
night.     Thus  soundly  may  the  virtuous  ever  sleep  1 


CAM  CLARKE  243 

Sarah  Clarke,  in  the  morning,  looked  at  me  rather 
severely,  as  I  had  not  been  there  when  she  went  to 
bed.  In  about  three  minutes  she  knew  everything 
we  knew,  which  shows  her  art.  "  The  jail  burned 
last  night,"  she  said  calmly,  when  we  had  finished, 
"  and  I  suppose  Doctor  Leffingwell  is  burned  with  it. 
Whose  fault  do  you  think  it  is  ?  Do  you  feel  exactly 
right  about  it?  That  happened  after  you  boys 
came  home." 

We  could  not  think  how  we  felt  and  she  let  us 
sneak  out  to  investigate. 

This  was  the  first  time  we  had  been  responsible  for 
a  murder  and  we  felt  guilty  and  curious. 

Leffingwell,  however,  was  not  dead  and  not  in- 
jured, but  he  was  the  most  famous  man  in  town. 
After  he  had  settled  down  in  jail  and  had  become 
calm,  he  decided  that  he  was  unjustly  imprisoned 
and,  further,  that  in  spite  of  the  overcoat  Bob  Dalton 
had  brought  him,  he  was  cold;  so,  with  matches  from 
his  overcoat,  and  dry  chips  from  a  corner  of  the  jail, 
he  started  a  fire  which  at  once  warmed  him  and 
gradually  burned  away  the  wooden  walls  between 
himself  and  freedom.  When  the  hole  was  big 
enough  he  walked  forth  unscathed  and  went  home 
to  bed.  A  short  time  later  the  whole  jail  was  dis- 
covered to  be  in  flames  and  Washtucna  alarmed  itself 
with  revolver  shots  and  tried  to  extinguish  the  fire. 
But  it  was  too  late.     The  jail  burned  to  the  ground. 

That  morning  Leffingwell  was  the  most  cheerful, 
most  confident  and  best  advertised  man  in  Wash- 
tucna. He  explained  at  least  fifty  times  to  various 
people  just  how  he  escaped  and  why;  and  as  he  talked 
he  puffed  a  cigar  in  such  a  large,  indifferent  way  that 


244  ^AM  CLARKE 

one  could  not  possibly  doubt  that  such  adventures 
were  commonplace  with  him.  Even  Mr.  Pete 
Barker  admitted  that  Doctor  Leffingwell  was  a 
"  smooth  coon."  Besides,  it  was  enterprising  of  him 
to  shoot  up  the  town  in  his  night  shirt.  Washtucna 
could  but  admire  the  whole  transaction. 

Further,  Doctor  Leffingwell  insisted  on  taking  on 
himself  all  the  blame  of  shooting  up  the  town.  He 
would  lay  nothing  on  Scoop  and  Bob.  He  admitted 
that  he  was  frolicsome  by  nature  and  insisted  on 
paying  for  new  panes  of  glass  for  Jan  Havland. 
He  admitted  that  his  friends,  Scoop  Bender  and  Bob 
Dalton,  had  to  some  extent  incited  him  to  this  deed, 
still  the  blame  was  his  own ;  he  had  actually  fired  the 
shots.  He  would  not,  he  said,  and  could  not  evade 
the  responsibility. 

As  for  the  burned  jail  —  he  would  see.  He  had 
been  illegally  arrested,  the  man  who  locked  him  up 
was  no  marshal  at  all;  still,  he  was  no  quibbler,  he 
would  do  what  was  right ;  he  was  but  a  struggling  fol- 
lower of  iEsculapius,  but  he  would  do  the  right  thing. 

The  Sun  and  The  Breeze  were  both  very  much 
impressed  by  Doctor  Leffingwell's  manly  way  of 
shouldering  responsibility  and  they  outbid  each  other 
In  praising  him. 

Cam  and  I,  It  will  be  readily  understood,  were  not 
too  anxious  to  divulge  our  part  in  the  transaction, 
although  we  were  disgusted  with  results.  And  as 
Scoop  and  Bob  had  gone  home  to  Bob's  ranch  to 
sleep  off  their  shame  and  their  liquor  and  to  labour 
at  the  education  of  the  trained  pig,  the  word  that 
went  the  round  was  this :  Doc  Leffingwell  had,  the 
evening  before,  been  feeling  both  bored  and  belllger- 


CAM  CLARKE  245 

cnt,  so  he  had  privately  "  liquored  up/'  then  he  had 
casually  strolled  down  town  in  his  night  shirt  and 
rubber  boots  and  had  shot  up  the  town  until  he  was 
arrested  by  a  group  of  fearless  and  public-spirited 
citizens,  numbering  amongst  them  Long  Doake, 
Gunnysack  Charlie,  Scoop  and  Bob.  Afterwards 
Doctor  Leffingwell  felt  the  disgrace  of  being  arrested 
by  other  people  than  the  marshal,  so  he  had  burned 
his  way  out  in  the  same  liberal  spirit  of  defiance  and 
badinage  as  that  in  which  he  had  shot  out  Jan  Hav- 
land's  window  lights.  Washtucna  was  rather  proud 
of  such  reckless  valour.  She  took  off  her  hat  to 
Doc  Leffingwell.  He  was  a  true  Washtucnan  by 
nature ;  God  had  made  him  a  Washtucnan. 

This  story  went  very  well  for  several  days,  but 
finally  Scoop  and  Bob  came  to  town.  Of  course, 
they  shyly  related  their  adventures  with  Leffingwell, 
or  as  much  of  them  as  they  could  remember,  and 
Washtucna  roared  both  with  laughter  at  itself  and 
at  Doctor  Leffingwell.  They  could  no  longer  ad- 
mire his  valour  so  unreservedly,  but  they  could  still 
dehght  in  his  gall.  And,  after  all,  gall  was  quite  as 
characteristic  a  trait  of  Washtucna  as  valour.  It 
must  be  confessed  that  on  this  occasion  the  loudest 
laughter  in  town  was  Leffingwell's  own.  "  Three 
nights  in  your  jail,  gentlemen,"  said  he  to  Scoop  and 
Bob,  who  had  come  around  to  "  square  things," 
"  would  make  me  the  most  famous  medico  in  the 
territory.  I  could  get  a  fash'nable  practice  in  Spo- 
kane, all  the  tony  fast  women  and  gamblers.  I'm 
greatly  obliged  to  you,  Pm  sure,"  and  he  shook  hands 
with  vigour. 

Leffingwell  continued  to   be   a   great  success   in 


246  CAM  CLARKE 

Washtucna.  Within  a  few  weeks  he  formed  a 
vague  professional  partnership  with  A.  J.  Punts, 
M.D.  They  both  afterwards  occupied  the  same 
offices  and  Leffingwell  became  one  of  the  institutions 
of  Washtucna.  "  The  followers  of  iEsculapius," 
said  Punts  in  explanation,  "  must  hereafter  pull  to- 
gether like  a  team  o'  mules,  draggin'  the  wagon  o' 
public  health  out  of  the  mud  of  ignorance.  Leffing- 
well and  I  stand  for  the  extermination  of  the  death 
rate  and  for  the  prosperity  of  Washington  Terri- 
tory. We  ain^t  any  more  rivulous  than  two  poets  or 
two  stars.*' 

After  this  the  next  social  event  of  importance  in 
Washtucna  was  the  show  given  for  the  benefit  of  the 
Widows'  Endowment  Fund  by  Bob  Dalton's  trained 
pig.  This  was  so  highly  instructive  a  show  that 
Messrs.  Bradford,  Punts  and  Jones  and  perhaps 
others  insisted  upon  paying  twenty  admissions  each 
on  account  of  instruction  received.  Mrs.  Clarke  was 
too  sick  to  attend,  but  at  hearing  the  veracious  ac- 
count of  it  given  by  Cam  and  me  she  cried  some  more. 
Punts  informed  us  that  this  would  be  a  great  tonic 
for  her,  the  credit  for  which  tonic  we  took  entirely  to 
ourselves.  I  have  since  doubted  if  this  is  what 
Punts  meant. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

1  SUPPOSE  Sarah  Clarke's  health  had  gone  down 
slowly  day  by  day  from  the  time  she  arrived  in 
Washtucna.  I  can  see  now  that  she  had  grown 
thinner  and  less  elastic,  but  I  was  then  too  stupid 
and  inexperienced  to  see  it  and  even  Cam  did  not 
know.  She  herself  must  have  known  it,  but  she  said 
nothing;  although  I  am  sure  she  fought  it,  for  there 
was  great  spirit  in  the  little  woman. 

The  first  time  I  remember  to  have  particularly 
noticed  her  health  and  to  have  been  startled  by  it  was 
on  one  night  that  winter  when  Cam  and  I  came  back 
from  a  long  day  of  skiing  and  rabbit  hunting  with  the 
old  Norwegian,  John  Shoultersack.  Shoultersack 
was  a  comparative  new-comer  from  nowhere,  but, 
like  every  one  in  Washtucna,  he  had  gladly  embraced 
the  religion  of  admiring  Sarah  Clarke.  When  we 
arrived  at  the  Clarkes'  that  night  Shoultersack  came 
into  the  house  to  speak  a  word  of  cheer,  for,  like  a 
true  Washtucnan,  he  not  only  admired  Sarah  Clarke, 
but  he  felt  loquacious  and  neighbourly  towards  her. 
She  was  sitting  in  the  little  bent-wood  rocking  chair 
and  when  we  came  in  she  tried  to  rise  but  could  not 
complete  the  ceremony.  Instead,  she  dropped  into 
her  chair,  lay  back,  and  closed  her  eyes.  She  looked 
so  white  and  still,  lying  there,  that  I  thought  she  was 
dead,  and  my  heart  went  in  my  throat.     Sister  Mary 

247 


248  CAM  CLARKE 

did  such  things,  but  she  was  used  to  It.  I  wondered 
if  Sarah  Clarke  could  stand  It. 

Shoultersack  was  useful  at  anything,  In  his  rough 
way.  He  sputtered  Indignation,  rubbed  water  on 
her  face  and  then  picked  up  her  frail  body  in  his 
long,  hairy  arms  and  carried  her  and  put  her  on  her 
bed  as  though  she  had  been  an  Infant.  She  must 
have  been  very  thin  and  very  light.  She  opened  her 
eyes  presently  and  said  she  felt  splendid  again  and 
would  get  up,  but  Shoultersack  looked  at  her  with  a 
severe  and  kindly  eye,  and,  having  pulled  his  long 
yellow  moustache  thoughtfully  several  times,  he  told 
her  firmly  that  she  must  not  get  up.  She  said  she 
must  make  supper.  Shoultersack  replied  that  he 
would  do  that;  that.  If  It  came  to  business,  he  was  a 
far  better  cook  than  ever  she  thought  of  being,  and 
had  had  much  more  experience,  which  latter  was  true. 
Then  he  bustled  around  like  an  enormous  male  hen 
and  the  supper  he  made  was  good.  Sarah  Clarke 
came  out  and  sat  with  us  as  we  ate  and  it  was  then 
that  I  noticed  how  drawn  and  thin  her  face  was. 
But  she  was  not  through,  she  had  a  vast  will  to  live. 
After  a  while  John  Bradford  came  In  and  as  he  en- 
tered her  eye  caught  fire.  I  did  not  understand  why 
and  now  I  wonder  that  I  saw  It  at  all.  She  was  not 
through :  Indeed,  she  had  fallen  In  love  with  life. 

John  Bradford  was  a  good  deal  concerned  and 
presently  he  sent  me  for  Punts.  That  gentleman 
came  away  from  his  poker  game  at  once  and  he  and 
Sarah  talked  for  a  long  time  in  the  front  room.  And 
always  after  that  he  used  to  come  more  frequently 
than  ever  to  see  her,  now  professionally.  And 
Shoultersack  came  often  to  make  meals,  urged,  I 


CAM  CLARKE  249 

fancy,  and  perhaps  even  rewarded,  by  John  Bradford 
and  Skookum  Jones. 

Shoultersack,  like  Tom  Warren,  had  sailed  the 
seven  seas,  and  then  he  had  come  up  to  a  cattle  and 
wheat  country  to  spend  the  fag  end  of  his  life.  He 
was  a  huge,  broad  chested,  gnarled  old  man,  always 
in  good  health,  except  that  periodically  and  as  faith- 
fully as  the  tax  collector  or  the  gas  man,  a  set  of  chills 
and  fever  presented  their  bill  for  the  privilege  he 
had  once  enjoyed  of  living  for  a  time  in  a  native  town 
somewhere  on  the  great  Orinoco  River.  But  I  have 
already  introduced  you  to  him  when  he  was  in  the 
grasp  of  his  chills. 

In  his  well  moments  Shoultersack  seemed  to  take  a 
perverse  pride  in  this  periodic  visitation.  But  in  the 
actual  times  of  his  sickness  he  used  all  that  winter  to 
lie  in  his  bunk  in  his  little  board  shack  hurling  forth 
volumes  of  indecent  blasphemy  and  consuming  port 
wine,  whisky  and  quinine  without  end.  Recovered, 
he  became  again,  for  exactly  the  allotted  number  of 
days,  healthy,  mild,  gentle  and  even  tolerantly  pious. 
His  piety  took  the  form  of  spiritualism  —  but  Shoul- 
tersack was  a  book  in  himself. 

All  through  the  spring  Sarah  Clarke  grew  weaker 
and  finally  in  early  May  a  trained  woman  nurse  was 
brought  down  from  Spokane  to  care  for  her,  by 
whom  I  never  exactly  knew,  but  I  presume  it  was  by 
Bradford,  Punts,  Jones,  et  al.  Yet  she  was  not 
solely  under  their  pay.  A  committee  of  Washtuc- 
nans  insisted  on  distributing  that  expense  amongst 
something  like  a  thousand  people.  The  names  of 
this  committee  never  were  divulged  to  me,  but  I  could 
name  them.     There  would  be  Judge  Rusher,  Mr. 


250  CAM  CLARKE 

Beauclerc,  Mr.  Donnelly  and  William  Hoefner,  the 
smith, —  or  else  his  wife.  It  should  be  remarked 
that  this  female  nurse  was  hired  over  the  protests  of 
Mr.  Shoultersack,  who  considered  himself  a  perfect 
nurse. 

In  the  first  days  of  May,  Sarah  Clarke  had  seemed 
better,  but  on  May  twelfth,  when  Cam  and  I  re- 
turned from  Rock  Lake,  whither  we  had  been  taken 
on  a  jaunt  by  Mr.  Skookum  Jones,  who  was  getting 
old  enough  to  appreciate  company,  she  was  in  bed 
and  not  able  to  get  up  for  supper.  We  told  our  ad- 
ventures by  her  bedside ;  and  how  the  wild  geese  came 
in  great  honking  bands  at  daylight  and  how  the  musk- 
rat  built  his  house. 

She  listened  until  Punts  and  Bradford  came  and 
then  we,  dead  with  sleep,  made  off  for  bed.  Punts 
and  Bradford  sat  by  the  bed  on  the  old  worn  Sara- 
toga trunk  for  a  long  time,  not  talking,  for  Sarah 
Clarke,  I  suppose,  seemed  too  weak  for  that,  but  just 
watching.  The  nurse  sat  in  the  corner  and  knitted. 
And  on  many  nights  thereafter  they  thus  sat  with 
her  in  the  dim  lighted  little  bed-room;  Bradford 
calm,  hard  as  iron;  Punts  twisting  his  long,  black 
beard,  leering  and  rolling  his  eyes,  seeking  if  he 
might  not  help  her  in  this  great  extremity ;  the  nurse 
knitting,  knitting  like  a  machine.  Sometimes  Mrs. 
Clarke's  hand  would  lie  in  Bradford's,  for  a  great 
sympathy  without  the  words  that  go  with  such  things 
seemed  to  have  grown  up  between  them.  Punts 
would  grin  sardonically.  "  That  is  the  medicine,"  he 
would  grate  out  joyfully  to  Bradford,  on  leaving. 
And  then  they  would  meet  little  old  shrivelled 
Skookum  Jones,  who,  for  perhaps  two  hours,  had 


CAM  CLARKE  251 

been  pacing  the  street.  The  temporary  elation  pro- 
duced by  his  elopement  had  ceased,  he  was  looking 
seedy. 

Eventually  the  subtle  elixir  of  her  regard  for 
Bradford  proved  not  sufficient  tonic  for  Mrs.  Clarke. 
We  commenced  to  hear  talk  of  an  operation,  which, 
at  that  time,  was  a  new  word  and  a  new  idea  to  me ; 
and  even  Cam  was  not  used  to  it.  We  inquired 
about  operations  and  from  what  we  could  understand 
they  were  outlandish  and  cruel  and  unbearable  things. 
We  talked  it  over  very  judicially  and  then  went  to 
Punts  and  protested.  We  explained  that  even  cut- 
ting your  finger  hurts  a  good  deal,  which  we  supposed 
he  did  not  know.  Punts  listened  to  us  with  surpris- 
ing patience. 

"  I  don't  like  it  either,"  he  said,  **  but  mebbe  we 
got  to  do  it.  I  don't  like  it  any  more'n  you  do ;  but 
mebbe  Sarah  Clarke  needs  it." 

During  those  painful  days  when  talk  of  opera- 
tions was  in  the  air,  Washtucna  was  very  acutely 
conscious  of  what  events  were  going  forward  in  Mrs. 
Clarke's  little  cottage.  She  knew  that  in  these  mild 
and  lovely  days  of  May,  Death  was  mixing  a  brew. 
Would  Mrs.  Clarke  drink  of  it?  That  was  the 
question.  *'  She  will  not,"  affirmed  Mr.  Pete  Barker 
confidently.  *'  She's  too  strong  willed  a  woman, 
though  gentle;  yes,  sir!  She'll  not  do  it!  "  and  he 
pounded  his  fist  on  Jan  Havland's  mahogany  bar. 
But  Washtucna  still  was  afraid.  In  this  matter  she 
lacked  her  usual  optimism. 

A  Sabbath  hush  everywhere  prevailed  in  the  town 
except  at  Jan  Havland's,  and  even  there  the  poker 
chips  seemed  to  chink  more  dully  than  was  their 


252  CAM  CLARKE 

wont,  and  men  spoke  In  subdued  tones  and  seemed 
always  to  be  waiting  to  hear  something  —  waiting 
awake  even  far  into  the  night  when  their  rough  but 
suppressed  voices  could  be  heard  in  Doc  Punts' 
office,  engaged  in  the  fragmentary  conversation  with 
which  they  passed  the  time  until  Punts  should  return 
from  his  vigil  and  give  them  the  last  news  of  the 
night.  Steady  members  of  these  parties  were  Gun- 
nysack  Charlie,  Mr.  Bob  Dalton,  Skookum  Jones, 
Mr.  Pete  Barker;  while  from  time  to  time  others 
came  In,  went  out  and  came  anxiously  In  again.  And, 
needless  to  say.  The  Sun  and  The  Breeze  outraced 
each  other  in  compositions  touching  Mrs.  Clarke's 
condition. 

"  Gents,"  said  Punts,  on  one  of  these  occasions, 
when  asked  to  hazard  an  opinion  In  the  case,  *'  gents, 
I'd  like  to  tell  you  what  was  going  to  happen  to 
Sarah  Clarke,  but  I  can't  do  It.  The  fact  is,  I  ain't 
entirely  runnin'  this  spell  of  sickness.  The  lady  is 
far  and  out  from  us  fellers  here  with  her  vital  forces 
strung  out  like  skirmishers  and  me  tryin'  to  get  rein- 
forcements to  the  firin'  line ;  and,  gents,  I  don't  know 
If  I'm  able  or  not.  But  the  lady  is  hangin'  on,  she 
ain't  capitulatin' ;  she's  holdin'  the  fort  and  will  to 
the  end." 

"  Which  you  mean  you  ain't  exactly  able  to  locate 
the  storm  centre  yet,"  said  Tom  Warren,  striking 
his  boot  gloomily  with  his  quirt.  *'  You  ain't  sure 
what  wind  you'll  be  sailln'  on.     I  see." 

Punts  leered  horribly,  but  did  not  answer.  It 
would  have  been  too  fiendish  a  leer  had  not  a  tiny 
tear  drop  trickled  down  one  of  his  hollow  cheeks. 
Punts,  at  this,  was  embarrassed  and  shaken,  and  he 


CAM  CLARKE  253 

strode  out  Into  the  corridor,  his  long  beard  tightly 
bunched  up  in  a  bony  hand  and  pulled  to  one  side. 

"  Which  it's  enough  to  start  any  feller's  emotions 
to  grindin',"  said  the  squeaky,  unsteady  voice  of  old 
Skookum  Jones,  as  he  nervously  rubbed  his  veined, 
knotted  hands  on  the  soft  nap  of  his  plug  hat. 

"  She's  in  God's  hands,"  boomed  Mr.  Beauclerc's 
solemn  voice;  which,  indeed,  was  Washtucna's  view 
of  the  situation,  including  Punts  and  Tom  Warren 
and  Skookum  Jones. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

WASHTUCNA,  like  Cromwell,  trusted  in 
God,  kept  its  powder  dry  and  then  worried. 
Two  days  passed  without  the  least  change 
in  Sarah  Clarke's  condition.  Early  in  the  forenoon 
Punts  entered  his  office  where  was  the  usual  crowd  of 
men  waiting  the  last  word  of  the  patient.  A  crowd 
of  this  sort  had,  these  last  days,  so  closely  clung 
about  Punts'  office  that  their  sessions  were  almost 
continuous,  and  other  activities  in  Washtucna  seemed 
dead,  to  have  halted  short,  as  it  were,  right  in  the 
heart  of  springtime.  There  was  no  joy  whatever  in 
Washtucna's  heart,  no  new  enterprises  were  born  and 
old  ones  fainted  in  their  tracks.  It  was  the  exact 
variety  of  tribulation  most  difficult  for  Washtucna 
to  stand,  the  variety  in  which  one  can  not  act,  can  not 
do  anything.  Punts  strode  up  and  down  his  unswept 
office  floor  and  twisted  his  beard  and  leered  at  the 
crowd  and  then  he  looked  steadfastly  at  the  ceiling. 

"  How'd  she  seem.  Doc?  "  somebody  asked  im- 
patiently. 

Punts  seemed  not  to  hear.  "  Gents,  it's  like  this," 
he  said  softly,  "  it's  like  this;  I  may  as  well  tell  you : 
I'm  out  of  my  depth.  Let's  get  down  to  facts:  I'm 
out  of  my  depth,  plum  out.  I  ain't  a  professor  of  all 
knowledge,  I  admit.  I  know  about  gunshot  wounds 
and  child  birth,  but  this  has  me  down  and  is  sitting 
on  me,  and  Leffingwell  is  the  same  way,  but  he  don't 

254 


CAM  CLARKE  255 

admit  It  like  I  do.  Now  we  are  on  bed  rock.  What 
I  want  is  a  consultation  with  a  specialist  on  people's 
insides.  I'd  have  called  one  long  ago  but  there  ain't 
anybody  to  consult.  The  Spokane  sharps  are  like 
me,  some  ignorant,  some  of  'em  more  so,  though, 
like  Leffingwell,  they  deny  it.  We  can't  wait  for  St. 
Paul  and,  anyway,  St.  Paul's  just  a  village.  We  hev 
to  go  to  Chicago  or  mebbe  New  York." 

"  Why  goodness !  "  burst  in  old  Joe  Naff,  who 
came  from  the  Rock  Lake  country  and  was  almost  a 
stranger  in  Washtucna,  but  who  had,  nevertheless, 
at  once  adopted  a  hearty  interest  in  Sarah  Clarke's 
illness.  "  Why,  goodness  me !  Why,  goodness  me  I 
I'm  damned  if  it  don't  look  providential;  but  there's 
a  sharp  campin'  down  on  my  ranch  which  is  a  New 
Yorker  by  birth  and  residence  and  just  the  breed  of 
expert  specialist  you  want  as  far  as  I  can  make  out. 
He  was  telling  me  he  cut  open  King  George  of 
Greece  onct ;  he's  just  your  man.  He's  got  this  nerv- 
ous prostritlon  from  over-work  and  now  he's  restin' 
down  near  my  place.  Nice  feller,  too,  but  has  to 
live  in  a  tent  and  don't  eat  like  a  cow  puncher:  which 
cow  punchers  wouldn't,  either.  If  they  had  brains." 

Punts  showed  glimmerings  of  interest  but  he  was 
sceptical  as  became  the  only  scientific  man  present. 

"  You  don't  recall  his  name,  do  you?  " 

"  Why,  sure  I  do.  His  name  is  Smith  Mudd, 
Doctor  Smith  Mudd,  an'  he's  a  little  cold-blooded 
feller,  not  any  bigger'n  Skookum  Jones  here,  though 
he  dresses  plain,  not  like  Skookum  'tall." 

"  Not  Smith  Mudd  of  New  York  I  "  cried  Punts 
excitedly,  "  that  couldn't  be  I  Why,  he's  the  most 
eminent    insides    expert    in    America,    he's  —  why. 


256  CAM  CLARKE 

gents,  we  got  to  get  that  man  if  he's  only  down  in 
Rock  Lake. 

"  Why,  just  his  skin  stufFed  with  straw  would 
help  more'n  Leffingwell  and  me  combined  and  mul- 
tiplied by  four  —  not  that  I  renig,  however,  on  gun- 
shot wounds.'* 

"  He  says  he  ain't  workin'  a  bit,  that  he'll  be 
damned  if  he  looks  at  a  soul  this  trip,"  interrupted 
Naff  doubtfully.  "  Why,  I  wanted  him  to  look  at 
my  new  Durham  bull,  for  doctorin'  is  all  alike,  and 
he  wouldn't  at  all,  and  it's  the  only  Durham  bull  on 
Rock  Lake.     He  ain't  got  much  public  speerit." 

Mr.  Pete  Barker  spoke  up  softly.  "  Mebbe,"  he 
said  in  a  very  low  voice,  "  this  all  doctor  sport  would 
require  a  little  persuadin',  mebbe  he  would.  But 
that  can  be  applied.  Two  of  us  ought  to  be  able  to 
give  him  a  strong  invite  as  he's  small  and  sick  —  say 
Bob  Dalton  and  me.  Of  course  he'll  come  all  right 
if  we  ask  him.  Don't  you  think  so.  Bob?  We'd 
like  to  have  the  privilege  of  invitin'  him  anyway, 
wouldn't  we.  Bob  ?  " 

Bob  thought  so  very  emphatically  and  he  felt  so 
confident  of  success  that  he  offered  to  make  a  large 
wager  and  give  any  odds  people  liked  that  the  doc- 
tor would  accept  what  was  still  referred  to  as  the 
*'  invitation  "  to  consult  with  Punts  in  the  case  of 
Sarah  Clarke. 

"  Le's  see,"  said  Pete  thoughtfully,  pulling  out  the 
very  handsomest  watch  in  Washington  Territory. 
"  If  we  all  was  to  start  at  once  we'd  be  back  before 
dark  if  not  delayed,  which  we'll  take  pains  to  pre- 
vent. Right  near  your  house,  eh,  Mr.  Naff? 
Camped  out  sort  of,  eh?  " 


CAM  CLARKE  257 

**  Two  hundred  yards  south,  two  wall  tents  and  a 
Chinese  to  cook.  Don't  move  around  much,  just 
loafs." 

"Is  she  O.K.,  gents?"  asked  Mr.  Pete  Barker, 
looking  around.  "  Are  we  desired  to  take  this 
job?" 

Everybody  agreed  that  it  was  exactly  O.K.  and 
shortly  afterwards  a  pounding  of  hoofs  was  heard 
over  Steptoe  Avenue.  Mr.  Pete  Barker  and  Mr. 
Bob  Dalton  were  off;  Bob's  old  high  headed,  frozen 
eared  mustang,  Monte,  showing  the  way,  a  thing 
which  he  had  done  in  his  time  to  many  a  piece  of 
horse-flesh.  Out  they  went  up  the  steep  Robert's 
Hill,  spring  sparkling  all  about  them. 

It  was  a  fast  and  long  ride,  but  about  sunset  it 
terminated  when  three  dusty  men  galloped  into 
town,  frozen  eared  Monte  in  a  lather  but  at  least  a 
neck  in  the  lead  still,  showing  the  way  with  his  long 
and  ugly  head. 

The  third  man  was  Doctor  Smith  Mudd  of  New 
York.  He  was  a  bright  eyed,  alert,  business-like  lit- 
tle man,  as  active  as  a  grasshopper  and  as  decided  as 
a  squirrel  trap.  As  Mr.  Naff  had  said,  he  was  per- 
fectly cold-blooded  but  he  was  also  a  master  work- 
man, a  very  master  of  all  the  skill  of  his  trade.  And 
when  he  took  a  job  he  took  it.  He  had  not  intended 
originally  to  come;  indeed,  he  openly  and  abruptly 
and  without  reservation  refused.  But  he  was  open 
to  argument,  as  intelligent  minds  always  are ;  and  to 
the  argumentative  power  of  a  Colt's  revolver 
pointed  at  the  pit  of  his  stomach  he  succumbed  com- 
pletely. 

*'  You  hold  the  cards,"  he  remarked  dryly,  gather- 


258  CAM  CLARKE 

ing  a  few  things  into  a  leather  bag;  and  having  capit- 
ulated he  stayed  capitulated.  "  I  prefer  to  go  vol- 
untarily rather  than  to  go  lashed  to  my  saddle,"  he 
added,  and  then  quietly,  "  the  ride  may  do  me  good." 
He  was  a  practical  man. 

Dr.  Mudd,  as  he  arrived  in  Washtucna,  was  cov- 
ered with  dust  and  perspiration,  nevertheless  he 
looked  every  Inch  a  New  Yorker,  calm,  superior  and 
scornful.  He  had  been  comparatively  unused  to  rid- 
ing and  his  legs  were  so  cramped  that  he  hobbled 
when  he  walked.  But  he  neither  said  nor  implied 
any  word  of  complaint;  he  was  a  business-like  little 
man  of  invincible  spirit  and  a  sport.  It  was  easy  to 
see  how  such  a  man  became  eminent  Washtucna 
understood  at  a  glance. 

Dr.  Mudd  dismounted  in  a  silent  crowd  before 
Dr.  Punts'  office.  He  shook  hands  warmly  with 
Punts  and  looked  the  crowd  over  with  sharp,  fear- 
less little  human  eyes  as  though  they  were  cattle, 
whereupon  many  of  them  felt  like  cattle.  Then  he 
and  Punts  entered  the  office. 

**  Doctor  Punts  and  I  would  like  some  private  con- 
versation," he  said  sharply  to  some  of  the  overflow 
which  had  backed  up  into  the  office.  Washtucna 
vacated  and  said  over  its  shoulders  that  It  would  give 
him  privacy  or  anything  else  if  he  fixed  up  Sarah 
Cameron  Clarke.  Moreover,  they  decided  after 
they  went  out  that  In  spite  of  his  scorn  and  his  as- 
sumption of  authority  they  liked  his  appearance. 
Then  they  humanly  decided  that  they  even  liked  him 
because  of  his  arrogant  assumption  of  authority. 
Washtucnans  thereby  showed  kinship  to  the  rest  of 
humanity.     People  prefer  to  be  bossed  by  the  doc- 


CAM  CLARKE  259 

tor.  You  want  him  to  act  like  the  Lord  Almighty. 
It  relieves  you  of  a  lot  of  responsibility.  Wash- 
tucna  on  this  occasion  sighed  relievedly  and  went  out 
into  the  street  and  looked  in.  They  had  just  the  doc- 
tor they  wanted. 

Presently  the  new  German  waiter  girl  from  the 
Tennessee  Restaurant  brought  in  some  hot  soup, 
which  little  Dr.  Mudd  ate  while  he  discussed  with 
Punts  the  intricacies  of  the  case  under  consideration. 

"  Um  —  m  — "  we  heard  him  grunt  at  the  end, 
"  we'll  go  over."  Punts  strode  off  with  the  little 
man  after  him,  his  legs  twinkling  vaguely  in  the  star- 
light. And  Cam  and  I  followed  while  Washtucna 
waited  and  waited  far  into  the  night. 

That  night,  the  night  of  the  nineteenth  of  May, 
was  long  and  fearful  to  us  all.  I  recall  no  night  so 
lovely,  so  terrible  and  so  vivid  except  that  on  which 
my  first  child,  a  son,  was  born;  but  that  was  long 
years  afterwards.  All  Washtucna  in  an  extrava- 
gant spirit  of  devotion  stayed  awake  that  night. 
Over  in  Jan  Havland's  men  sat  waiting  in  sullen  si- 
lence, waiting,  waiting,  waiting.  Sometimes  a  head 
drooped  and  a  man  dozed;  sometimes  some  one 
drearily  called  for  liquor;  again,  some  one  suddenly 
lighted  a  match  for  pipe  or  cigar.  Outside  on  the 
wide  steps  of  The  Breeze  office  there  sat  a  group 
sprinkled  with  women.  They  talked  in  low  tones 
and,  like  the  others,  waited  and  waited.  Two  peo- 
ple in  the  town  remained  aloof  from  groups:  one  was 
John  Bradford,  who  paced  the  length  of  Sarah 
Clarke's  little  front  lawn  with  the  regularity  of  the 
pendulum  of  a  clock,  another  was  Miss  May  Caylor, 
who  walked  feverishly  around  the  depot  platform 


26o  CAM  CLARKE 

until  you  would  have  thought  she  would  fall  of  dizzi- 
ness. It  was  a  long  watch  and  Cam  and  I  dodged 
from  place  to  place. 

At  about  nine  Punts  came  from  the  little  house  to 
his  office  to  secure  some  additional  apparatus. 
^*  He'll  operate,"  he  said  succinctly  and  solemnly. 
"  Nobody  can  tell  how  it'll  come  yet;  it's  serious,  but 
—  he's  a  great  surgeon,  a  master  surgeon."  This 
remark  was  directed  to  little  Mr.  Skookum  Jones, 
by  whom  it  was  repeated  and  so  it  went  from  mouth 
to  mouth. 

Then  time  moved  very  slowly.  Cam  and  I 
roamed  restlessly  about  and  speculatively  watched 
the  dimly  lighted  windows  of  Mrs.  Clarke's  bed- 
room and  I  remember  that  Cam's  face  was  white,  as 
white  as  his  mother's  and  almost  as  high  nosed  and 
his  strange  mottled  eyes  were  amazingly  like  hers. 
He  had  at  last  realised  what  it  all  meant. 

Before  they  gave  the  anesthetic  to  her,  they  called 
Cam  and  me  in.  "  I'll  be  all  right  in  the  morning, 
boys,"  Mrs.  Clarke  insisted  faintly  with  an  attempt 
at  her  habitual  gaiety  of  speech.  But  suddenly  she 
closed  her  eyes  and  her  face  twisted  with  pain. 
Punts  shoved  us  out  the  door  but  over  my  shoulder 
I  saw  Sarah  Clarke's  thin  white  face,  high  nosed  like 
a  princess's,  wide  browed  like  Juno. 

"  She  was  awful  beautiful,"  I  said  when  we  were 
in  the  open.  Cam  only  choked.  Outside  there  was 
a  little  wind  astir.  It  whined  at  the  corners,  sang 
dolefully  at  the  telegraph  wires  and  made  the  people 
on  The  Breeze  steps  pull  their  wraps  closer.  But 
the  stars  were  noble  and  so  bright  that  in  their  dim 
light  we  could  see  the  loom  of  the  distant  mountains. 


CAM  CLARKE  261 

Punts  had  told  us  peremptorily  to  go  to  bed.  But 
of  course  we  did  not  go  and  could  not  have  gone, 
that  were  beyond  our  natures.  For  a  long  while  we 
sat  on  the  railroad  track  where  we  could  see  the 
shadows  flit  back  and  forth  against  Sarah  Clarke's 
drawn  window  shades  as  Punts  and  little  Smith 
Mudd  moved  about  inside.  And  we  could  also  see 
Bradford  as  he  strode  inexorably  up  and  down  on 
the  only  piece  of  lawn  that  then  existed  for  miles  and 
miles.  Sometimes  Miss  May  Caylor's  white  skirt 
winked  on  and  off  on  the  station  platform  like  a  faint, 
faint  light.  Sometimes  a  distinguishable  voice  rose 
from  the  party  in  Jan  Havland's  or  from  that  on  the 
steps  of  The  Breeze  office.  Once  an  extra  train 
from  Spokane  came  roaring  through  without  stop- 
ping, shaking  the  earth  and  pulling  a  little  gale  of 
wind  with  it.  There  by  the  railroad  we  continued 
sitting  for  hours.  Occasionally  some  one  of  the 
various  groups  went  home  but  many  still  remained. 
Then  Cam  and  I  commenced  to  doze  off  and  on 
and  I  fell  sound  asleep.  Cam  woke  me  with  his 
elbow. 

''  Mart,"  he  said,  *'  the  shadows  are  still  now; 
wake  up  I  " 

They  were,  indeed,  quite  still.  The  two  men 
were  evidently  sitting  down  side  by  side.  Probably 
the  thing  was  over.  They  were  just  having  a  final 
look  at  her:  could  she  speak,  we  wondered. 

"  They're  sittin'  on  the  Saratogy  trunk  where 
Punts  sat  all  last  night,"  said  Cam,  and  I  saw  he 
was  right.  There  they  were :  the  shadow  of  a  big 
framed  man,  which  was  Punts,  and  the  shadow  of  a 
little  one,  which  was  Mudd.     We  watched  again  for 


262  CAM  CLARKE 

a  long  time.  Twice  Punts  got  up,  moved  about  and 
returned  to  his  seat. 

"  Punts  is  a  better  doctor'n  Mudd/'  said  I  firmly. 

We  discussed  this. 

Bradford  still  walked  up  and  down.  Then  I 
dozed  again  and  as  I  dozed  I  shivered,  for  it  was 
cold.  Bradford  was  like  the  pendulum  of  a  clock, 
he  could  not  stop.  But  Miss  May  Caylor  had 
stopped  and  I  could  see  where  she  sat  on  a  great  bale 
of  jute  sacks  by  the  white  loom  of  her  skirt.  Again 
I  dozed  and  shivered. 

''The  door's  open!  Punts  is  comin'  out,"  whis- 
pered Cam  shrilly.     "  Come !  " 

We  ran  down  to  meet  him  and  we  clung  to  his 
hands  as  he  strode  over  towards  the  dimly  lighted 
office.  John  Bradford  was  abreast  him.  Miss 
May  Caylor  was  at  his  heels  and  other  people  fol- 
lowed close. 

When  we  saw  Punts'  face  under  the  lamplight  wc 
all  felt  a  great  peace  and  quiet.  It  was  drawn  and 
tired  and  worn  but  elation  shone  from  his  bold  eyes. 
It  was  a  triumphant  face,  a  joyful  face. 

Everybody  waited  for  him  to  speak. 

"  I  think  she's  all  right,"  said  Punts.  "  I  think 
she's  all  right.  She's  out  of  the  ether  and  has  ral- 
lied. Dr.  Mudd  thinks  she's  all  right.  He's  stay- 
ing there  while  I  sleep  an  hour  or  so,  then  I'll  go 
back.  I  think  she's  all  right,  and  if  she  is,  the  credit 
is  Dr.  Mudd's.  He's  a  great  man,  a  master  sur- 
geon." 

There  was  a  little  dull  murmur  of  elation.  May 
Caylor  turned  back  and  walked  away  and  I  could 
hear  her  throat  catch.     Mr.  Bradford  patted  Punts 


CAM  CLARKE  263 

gently  on  the  back  and  Punts  put  one  hand  on  Brad- 
ford's shoulder  and  covered  his  bold  eyes  with  the 
other. 

"  McPetherick,"  said  Punts  fiercely,  '*  put  Cam 
and  Mart  to  bed  some  place  in  your  damn  rattle- 
trap hotel.     Good  night,  kids !  " 

Outside,  gorgeous  day  was  coming,  hurling  night 
back  into  the  black  hole  beyond  the  western  horizon, 
but  we  could  hear  glasses  clinking  in  Jan  Havland's. 

"  No  noise,"  grated  Punts  harshly,  as  he  stuck  his 
head  in  at  the  door.  "  No  noise,  damn  ye  I  "  And 
there  was  none;  but  the  glasses  clinked  gently  long 
life  to  Sarah  Clarke  and  Punts  and  Doctor  Mudd. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  morning  following  and  the  mornings 
which  followed  thereafter  justified  the  hope- 
ful prognostications  of  Punts.  Mrs.  Clarke 
rallied  beautifully,  there  were  no  complications  and 
she  was  In  good  spirits. 

Washtucna's  feelings  and  energies  were  naturally 
greatly  refreshed  by  these  various  hopeful  symp- 
toms in  Mrs.  Clarke.  First  it  celebrated  with  ex- 
uberance. Then  it  went  into  its  business  and  pleas- 
ure with  renewed  vigour  and  strength:  the  building 
of  ramshackle,  tawdry  houses  was  pursued  with  fresh 
zeal,  town  real  estate  further  got  itself  inflated,  and 
vast  acres  were  put  under  the  yoke  of  plough  and 
harrow  to  the  benefit  of  the  human  stomachs  of  the 
world.  Then  the  plan  of  the  water  works  was  ap- 
proved by  the  town  council  and  I  regret  to  say  that 
in  the  general  enthusiasm  begotten  by  enthusiasm  a 
great  many  wild-cat  enterprises  raised  their  heads 
above  ground  and  flourished. 

But  Washtucna  in  its  new  enterprises  did  not  in 
the  least  forget  Mrs.  Clarke.  She  was  their  tutelar 
saint,  or,  indeed,  was  almost  Washtucna  itself. 
Whether  by  threats  or  by  offers  of  reward  I  do  not 
know,  but  Washtucna  persuaded  little  Doctor  Mudd 
to  visit  Judge  Rusher  for  ten  days  until  all  possible 
danger  of  a  relapse   for  Mrs.   Clarke   should  be 

264 


CAM  CLARKE  265 

ended.  In  addition,  It  bombarded  Mrs.  Clarke  with 
presents.  She  received  enough  not  altogether  well 
selected  delicacies  to  feed  fifteen  or  twenty  sick  peo- 
ple. This  seemed  wasteful,  but  Cam  and  I  liked  the 
arrangement,  for  we  ate  much  of  the  food,  and 
what  we  did  not  eat  the  brothers  and  sisters  Campln 
took  off  our  hands. 

Cam  and  I  were  always  together  those  days. 
They  let  us  Into  the  sick  room  together  that  first  day 
and  they  drove  us  out  together.  Then  together  we 
climbed  Granite  Hill  and  talked  things  over  on  a 
high  windy  spot  wherefrom  you  could  see  the  rolling 
hills  for  miles,  all  green  now  with  growing  grain. 
I  ate  a  live  grasshopper  on  a  dare,  and  Cam  put  an 
angle  worm  in  his  mouth. 

Every  day  thereafter  we  saw  Sarah  Clarke  for 
increasing  lengths  of  time,  and  never  since  I  knew 
her  had  she  been  so  light-hearted  and  hopeful,  so 
full  of  youth.  Indeed,  she  seemed  very  young  and 
she  grew  strong  at  such  an  amazing  rate  that  It  was 
not  two  weeks  until  she  was  able  to  sit  up  much  of 
the  time  on  her  own  little  front  porch  and  talk  to 
people. 

And  to  that  little  front  porch  came  many  friends, 
both  men  and  women.  But  most  frequently  and  to 
stay  longest  came  John  Bradford,  alert,  strong,  sun- 
burned, aggressive,  yet  kindly  and  garbed  always  In 
the  height  of  English  fashion.  And,  though  Cam 
and  I  did  not  understand  exactly  what  was  happen- 
ing, we  nevertheless  realized  In  a  general  way  that 
It  was  John  Bradford's  strength  as  much  as  her  own 
that  was  pulling  Sarah  Clarke  up  and  Imparting  to 
her  a  new  capacity  for  living.     It  was  even  giving 


266  CAM  CLARKE 

her  back  a  piece  of  youth  again.  He  used  to  sit  with 
her  through  long  evenings  and  often  in  the  morning 
he  came  with  flowers  brought  down  from  Spokane, 
with  what  seemed  to  Washtucna  people  princely 
prodigality.  Sometimes  he  read  aloud,  at  first 
mostly  from  books  of  adventure  and  travel,  In  which 
he  was  frankly  Interested,  and  of  which  Cam  and  I 
could  afford  to  miss  no  word.  Then  he  started 
poems  and,  after  a  few  trials,  we  left,  which  was  prob- 
ably exactly  what  he  was  after.  Small  blame  to 
him ;  we  could  have  been  of  no  use  to  a  lover.  Al- 
ways thereafter  he  seemed  to  us  to  be  reading  poems 
when  we  arrived,  so  we  did  not  do  much  arriving. 
If  he  had  only  read  active,  belligerent  poems  we 
could  have  stood  it,  but  he  was  absolutely  merciless ; 
he  read  good  poems,  poems  of  Keats  and  Brown- 
ing and  things  called  sonnets  and  odes.  Oh,  it  was 
too  horrible. 

All  this  flower  and  poem  activity  came  to  the  end 
we  could  have  foretold  had  we  been  grown  up 
enough  to  understand.  Consequently  Washtucna 
in  general  was  not  unprepared;  some  of  it  had  even 
predicted  the  future  actions  of  Mrs.  Clarke  and 
Bradford  with  reasonable  certainty  and  it  had  its 
blessing  straining  at  the  leash. 

Early  in  July  Mrs.  Clarke  was  able  to  get  about 
to  places  with  considerable  freedom,  able  to  walk 
a  little  and  to  take  long  drives  with  John  Bradford. 
On  one  of  these  drives  they  took  Cam  and  me  and 
we  went  out  to  the  elbow  bend  of  Pine  Creek,  there 
where  James  O'Neil  Clarke  was  buried  In  the  valley. 
Old  Tom  Warren  strode  down  from  his  hill  resi- 
dence again  through  bunch  grass,  now  yellow  and 


CAM  CLARKE  267 

ripe  with  the  summer's  fulness.  He  showed  us  with 
pride  how  he  kept  a  few  flowers  bright  upon  the 
grave  of  James  O'Nell  Clarke  by  an  automatic 
dripper,  the  pattern  for  which  he  had  seen  many 
years  before  in  the  Spice  Islands.  And,  probably 
principally  to  relieve  the  tension,  he  became  gar- 
rulous and  told  hair-raising  stories  of  his  adventures 
amongst  Malay  pirates.  Then  he  asked  us  to  stay 
for  supper  with  him  and  we  all  did,  every  person 
helping  to  cook.  Afterwards,  as  we  were  sitting  on 
the  porch,  Tom  spoke  in  his  roaring  voice  to  Sarah 
Clarke. 

**  I  hope,  ma'm,  you  ain't  remainin'  single  much 
longer  —  it's  a  sin  to  God,  ma'm ;  and  you  need  a 
convoy;  yes,  sir,  a  convoy,  ma'm;  for  the  world  is 
just  a  huge  piratical  sea  and  tenderness  needs  pro- 
tection." 

Mrs.  Clarke  looked  at  Mr.  Warren  with  a  suspi- 
cious moisture  in  her  wonderful  mottled  eyes;  he  had 
caught  the  spirit  of  the  moment.  He  could  be  tact- 
ful enough  for  a  diplomat  when  he  chose. 

"  Mr.  Warren,"  she  said  presently,  "  I  want  you 
to  come  to  my  house  next  Saturday  night  at  eight 
and  we'll  tell  you  something.  Something  of  great 
importance  to  us,  but  I  think  you  have  already 
guessed  It." 

This  was  the  first  I  had  heard  of  that  later  so 
celebrated  party.  But  next  day  word  was  sent  out 
to  other  people,  to  everybody  In  and  near  Washtucna. 
And  on  Saturday  night  Washtucna  hitching  racks 
were  full,  crowded  with  hacks  and  buckboards  and 
saddle  ponies.  The  crowd  was  so  great  that  in  Mrs. 
Clarke's  little  house  they  threw  open  even  the  win- 


268  CAM  CLARKE 

dows  to  let  the  overflow  look  and  hear  and  on  the 
inside  there  was  only  standing  room. 

When  people  were  assembled,  there  were  passed 
around  vast  numbers  of  glasses  of  punch  —  a  bever- 
age quite  new  to  Washtucna  and  very  justly  regarded 
with  suspicion  by  men  accustomed  to  straight  liquor. 

It  was  Doctor  Punts  who  rapped  for  silence  on 
the  little  dining-room  table  with  his  huge  bony 
knuckles,  but  it  was  Mr.  Skookum  Jones's  thin  and 
wavering  voice  which  arose  in  speech.  Mr. 
Skookum,  it  must  be  understood,  was  very  hand- 
somely garbed  for  this  occasion.  He  had  a  new 
Prince  Albert  purchased  less  than  twenty  years  be- 
fore, skin  tight  broadcloth  trousers  and  high-heeled 
calf  skin  boots  of  Civil  War  pattern,  while  his  rusty 
plug  hat  was  carried  under  his  arm  and  his  beard 
was  actually  trimmed. 

"  Ladies  and  gents  of  Washtucna,"  he  quavered, 
pluicking  the  white  hairs  of  his  goatee,  "  I  believe 
she's  about  a  year  since  Mrs.  Clarke  came  here  and 
it's  been  a  big  year  for  Washtucna  and  on  the  whole 
a  happy  year  for  us  all.  It  was  a  change  for  Mrs. 
Clarke  coming  from  the  teeming  and  effete  civiliza- 
tion of  the  East  to  arrive  here,  but  now,  ladies  and 
gents,  she  contemplates  even  a  greater  change  —  in 
fact,  ladies  and  gents,  she  contemplates  entering  the 
holy  and  honourable  estate  of  marriage,  which  is  right 
and  proper.  And  who  with?  —  nobody  but  our 
own  neighbour  and  friend  John  Bradford.  And  as 
there  is  neither  man  nor  woman  here  but  wishes  them 
good  luck,  I  ask  you  to  join  me  in  drinking  their 

HEALTH  I  " 

Washtucna  threw  its  mistrust  of  punch  overboard 


CAM  CLARKE  269 

and  drank  bottoms  up,  and  then  they  cheered  and 
rushed  at  Mrs.  Clarke  and  Bradford,  who  were  now 
observed  to  be  standing  side  by  side  next  to  Punts. 
There  was  a  temporary  riot  of  congratulation  and 
good  wishes. 

*' Speech,  Bradford!"  cried  a  voice  and  fifty 
others  echoed  it.  He  was  shoved  up  on  a  chair. 
*'  I  am  much  obliged,  friends,'*  he  said  embar- 
rassedly;  "  I'm  much  obliged,  but  you  know  I'm  not 
much  of  a  speaker;  not  like  Skookum  or  Doc  here, 
who  can  speak  any  time.  However,  there's  one 
thing  I'd  like  to  say,  which  you  all  know  is  true: 
that  I  haven't  been  so  very  sensible  thus  far  in  life, 
in  fact  I've  been  a  good  deal  of  a  fool.  I  know 
I'm  not  fit  for  her  and  so  do  you;  but,  men,  I'll  do 
better.  I'm  playing  the  game  on  a  higher  altitude 
hereafter.  I  know  how  you  all  feel  about  Mrs. 
Clarke  and  if  I  don't  act  right,  which  I  will,  you 
can  pot  me  up  and  I'll  never  complain.  I'm  much 
obliged  to  you." 

"  Well  sphoken  I  "  cried  Mr.  Gunnysack  Charlie 
in  falsetto  when  the  cheering  had  died.  '*  I  say  all 
roight  I  When  ye  say  ye  are  not  fit  it  shows  ye  are 
fit,  just  as  pwhat  I  say  shows  I'm  Irish.  Well 
sphoke,  I  say — "  but  a  hand  choked  him.  Mr. 
Gunnysack,  I  regret  to  say,  was  not  sober. 

The  fiddles  struck  up  and  the  furniture  was  cleared 
away.  They  danced  until  Punts  sent  them  home 
with  the  explanation  that  Mrs.  Clarke  was  still  con- 
valescent and  that  he  was  her  physician.  It  was  a 
good  dance.  To  be  true,  there  was  a  shortage  of 
females  and  Mr.  Bob  Dalton  and  Mr.  Scoop  Bender 
became  female  impersonators  by  the  simple  ruse  of 


270  CAM  CLARKE 

tying  handkerchiefs  on  their  arms;  but  it  is  a  good 
dance  that  gets  remembered  as  many  years  as  I  re- 
member this  one,  so  I  repeat  that  it  was  a  most  ex- 
cellent dance. 

Next  day  Gunnysack  Charlie,  having  become 
sober,  reminded  Washtucna  that  no  one  except  Mrs. 
Clarke  or  Bradford  yet  knew  when  to  expect  the 
wdddlng.  It  then  transpired  that  neither  did  Mrs. 
Clarke  nor  Bradford.     They  had  not  decided. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

IT  is  my  present  opinion  that  In  selecting  the 
proper  line  of  action  for  a  boy  whose  mother 
was  engaged  to  be  married,  Cam  and  I  went 
astray,  just  as  we  had  done  in  selecting  a  method  of 
ridding  the  town  of  Leffingwell.  But  our  error  was 
not  due  to  lack  of  cogitation  and  deep  thought.  We 
gave  our  very  best  brains  to  that  matter  for  several 
days,  and  talked  It  over  for  hours  up  on  Granite  Hill 
in  a  patch  of  dwarf  huckleberries,  which  had  taken  up 
a  piece  of  land  too  poor  for  the  bunch  grass  to  live  in. 
As  we  talked,  we  ate  huckleberries  and  fed  them  to 
sucker-mouthed,  hungry  young  sparrows.  One  nest 
of  five  of  these  featherless,  squalling  creatures  ate 
one  hundred  and  sixty-seven  berries  in  one  day. 
Cam  tried  to  decide  how  many  we  ought  to  eat  at 
the  same  rate.  We  concluded  we  could  not  eat  that 
many  without  exploding  and,  besides,  who  would 
pick  them?  So  we  got  back  again  to  the  subject  of 
what  Cam^s  conduct  should  be  after  his  mother  was 
married.  Cam  sat  down,  tucked  his  knees  under  his 
chin  and  rocked  back  and  forth  as  his  mother  did 
in  her  little  bentwood  chair.  He  was  supposed  to 
be  thinking  —  he  was  thinking. 

"  I  tell  you.  Mart,"  said  Cam,  after  due  delibera- 
tion, and  as  he  spoke  he  kept  his  speckled  eyes  fixed 
on  the  horizon,  "  I  tell  you,  when  a  boy  has  become 
grown  up  to  be  twelve  years  old  like  me  and  his 

271 


272  CAM  CLARKE 

mother  decides  to  marry  up  again,  It  looks  to  me  the 
boy  ought  to  dig  out.  Of  course  a  feller  of  that  age 
is  plenty  able  to  take  care  of  himself.  If  he  can 
ever  make  a  livin'  he  can  do  it  then.  It  ain't  as 
though  he  was  only  nine  or  ten.  Now  don't  you 
think  so?  Don't  you  think  I  am  right?  I've 
thought  it  over  and  that's  the  way  it  looks  to  me." 

"  Of  course,"  said  I  contemplatively,  dropping  a 
final  huckleberry  into  the  insatiable  craw  of  a  young 
bird.  "  Of  course  you're  right.  A  feller  ought  to 
be  independent;  he  wouldn't  want  to  ask  Bradford 
for  money  for  chewing-gum  and  fish  hooks  and  other 
things  he'd  need.  He'd  rather  make  it  hisself. 
But  there's  your  ma,  she'd  feel  rotten  —  at  least  I 
think  she  would.  Women  alius  do  feel  rotten  about 
everything;  that's  my  idea." 

"  You'd  think  so,"  said  Cam  judicially,  "  you'd 
think  so  now,  wouldn't  you?  But,  Mart,  I  been  in- 
quirin'  into  this  business  an',  besides,  you  know  I  been 
noticin'  things  all  my  life  —  I'm  a  great  noticer  any- 
way —  and  my  experience  is  they  don't  hardly  seem 
to  know  you're  gone.  You  see.  Mart,  havin'  a  new 
husband  must  be  awful  occupin'  to  a  woman,  there 
ain't  any  way  of  tellin'  just  how  he'll  like  to  have 
things  fixed.  I  been  talkin'  to  Mr.  Gunnysack,  never 
lettin'  him  guess  what  I'm  up  to,  and  he  thinks  that 
too." 

"  If  that's  so,"  I  conceded,  entirely  convinced,  "  I 
guess  a  feller  might  just  as  well  go ;  it  ain't  any  use 
to  stay  around  and  be  a  nuisance  if  your  family  ain't 
goin'  to  know  whether  you're  there  or  not.  And  I 
guess  Gunnysack  would  know.  He  told  me  his  ma 
married  several  times." 


CAM  CLARKE  273 

"  That's  what  I  think  too,"  said  Cam  firmly,  "  and 
that's  the  reason  I'm  goin'  so  soon  —  day  after  to- 
morrow mornin'  early." 

This  determination  of  Cam's  I  now  judge  to  have 
been  entirely  new  in  his  mind  at  that  moment,  but  his 
voice  was  as  firm  as  if  he  had  been  planning  to  do 
the  thing  for  six  months  at  least.  I  naturally  was 
fooled  by  it.  I  believed  he  had  known  what  he 
wanted  to  do  for  a  long  time.     I  was  startled. 

*'  What  you  goin'  to  do  when  you  get  away?"  I 
asked  with  a  quick  feeling  of  prudence  or  something 
that  resembled  it. 

"  Go  railroadin',"  he  replied  grandiloquently,  and 
he  lay  back  in  the  short  brush  and  looked  calmly  at 
the  sky  and  then  went  on :  "  I'm  goin'  to  see  Mr. 
Hirschlager,  like  he  told  me  to  do,  and  get  a  job 
from  him  bein'  newsboy  on  a  train,  peanut  butcher, 
—  and  —  say.  Mart,  why  don't  you — "  and  he  sat 
up  triumphantly,  "why  don't  you  gO',  too?  You 
must  be  sick  of  dodgin'  your  old  man  all  the  time. 
And  he  don't  get  better  very  fast.  I  wouldn't  stand 
it.     I'd  run  away." 

I  had  been  thinking  of  that  myself  and  I  jumped 
at  It.  "  I'll  do  it,"  I  said ;  "  I'll  do  it  I  "  and  then  we 
lay  on  our  backs  on  the  dwarf  huckleberry  bushes  and 
made  our  plans:  what  to  take  and  what  to  leave. 
And  then  we  planned  our  life  in  some  detail  for  the 
next  twenty  or  forty  years.  We  were  enthusiastic. 
I  was  a  sort  of  natural  run-away  boy  anyway.  My 
fathers  had  been  running  away  from  times  unremem- 
bered;  going  to  sea,  going  here  and  there.  And  my 
brother  Tim  had  already  gone.  Poverty  was  the 
reason ;  we  had  been  poor  always  and  always,  which 


274  CAM  CLARKE 

takes  us  back  to  rack  rent.  Cam  was  different,  he 
did  not  come  of  a  run-away  breed;  but  he  did  not 
relent.  And  yet  we  both  felt  sort  of  rotten  and 
empty  when  we  got  to  thinking  of  the  details.  But, 
though  we  felt  weak,  we  talked  strong  and  talked 
long.  It  was  dark  when  we  got  home  but  we  had 
finished  plans  for  the  future.  Cam  would  get  pro- 
moted to  be  engineer  and  I  would  be  his  fireman, 
unless  we  decided  to  become  town  marshals  or  cattle 
men. 

There  was  no  backsliding.  We  sneaked  out  and 
held  another  meeting  that  night  and  looked  at  a  lot 
of  places  we  would  not  have  time  to  see  next  day 
and  noticed  just  what  they  were  like  so  we  would 
know.  And  we  planned  a  little  more,  but  Cam  was 
rather  silent  that  night.  It  was  so  with  him  later  in 
life.  In  emergencies  he  was  silent  but  unshakably 
firm.     "  The  child  is  father  to  the  man." 

Cam  Clarke's  days  in  Washtucna  were  about  lived 
out;  and  I  see  now,  as  I  look  back  over  my  blotted 
pages,  that  I  have  not  done  what  I  intended  to  do. 
I  intended  to  write  almost  entirely  of  Cam  Clarke; 
of  Cam  Clarke,  indeed,  as  he  lived  in  Washtucna  and 
was  affected  by  it,  but  quite  exclusively  of  him.  I 
have  not  done  this.  I  have  written  of  many  other 
things:  of  Washtucna  in  general  and  of  myself  in 
particular.  But  it  is  all  right,  if  I  have  kept  any  pro- 
portion in  the  writing.  Washtucna  was  where  he 
lived  and  I  was  his  chum,  and  the  people  I  have  de- 
scribed were  those  that  lived  with  and  near  him. 
I  have  wanted  the  world  to  see  a  picture  of  the  boy 
who  later  as  a  man  came  to  be  the  greatest  of  finan- 
cial jugglers,  yet  a  leader  of  conservative  men;  who 


CAM  CLARKE  275 

was  mild  and  gentle  and  loyal  and  true,  yet  was  as 
ruthless  as  a  Tartar  chieftain.  He  has  done  a  great 
work.  While  he  is  yet  young  he  is  a  great  man ;  yes, 
a  great  man,  though  you  may  damn  him  and  dis- 
approve him.  I  wanted  the  world  to  see  how  such 
a  man  looked  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  if  I  have  told 
only  a  little  and  that  true,  I  am  satisfied.  He,  it  is 
now  universally  agreed,  was  and  is  an  extraordinary 
phenomenon;  and  I  loved  him.  Yes,  he  is  as  ex- 
traordinary as  our  own  Caucasian  race ;  as  startling 
and  natural  as  mine  own  people.  He  is  a  true 
Aryan,  yet  an  ancient  Greek  more  than  an  American. 
I  wanted  to  let  the  world  see  that  he  was  human,  that 
he  had  a  sweet  mother  and  that  he  was  a  good  com- 
rade. 

On  the  next  day  we  went  in  the  morning  to  the 
swimming  pond  for  a  farewell  plunge  and,  though  it 
was  muddy  and  shallow  and  yellow,  I  said  I  liked 
its  looks  more  than  any  '*  swimming  hole  "  I  should 
ever  see;  and  I  was  right.  When  I  went  home  to 
dinner  that  day  every  one  was  kind  to  me.  That 
was  almost  too  much.  I  became  two  boys:  one 
wanted  to  go,  one  to  stay.  I  took  both  boys  out  in 
the  back  yard  to  talk  it  over.  Why  had  people  to 
be  kind  to  me  on  that  day  of  all  others?  Why  need 
even  my  father  pat  me  on  the  head? 

The  first  boy  wanted  me  to  go  to  Spokane. 
**  Mart,"  he  said,  "  Fm  sure  glad  youVe  goin'  up 
there,  if  11  be  fine.  Mr.  Hirschlager'll  get  you  a  job 
and  a  newsboy's  uniform  and  Cam'll  be  along,  and 
everybody  knows  how  smart  and  noble  he  is;  and  I 
guess  you'll  have  the  finest  time  a  boy  ever  had." 

"  Shuh,"  said  the  other  boy,  "  it's  mighty  nice 


276  CAM  CLARKE 

right  here  in  Washtucna  and  everybody  treats  you 
fine  most  always ;  you  know  that  yourself  and  mebbe 
you'll  grow  up  to  be  a  horse-doctor  or  marshal  or 
something  else  important  here  in  the  Palouse  Coun- 
try/' 

"  Washtucna'U  be  a  sick  place  without  Cam," 
soliloquized  the  other  voice. 

This  argument  filled  my  mind  with  blankness  and 
the  run-away  boy  went  on,  "  And  Washtucna'll  miss 
you  and  Cam  if  you  go,  and  they'll  say  you  are  about 
the  niftiest  kids  they  ever  saw,  and  all  the  kids  will 
tell  how  well  they  knew  you,  and  be  proud,  too.  But 
if  you  stay  here  they  won't  pay  any  attention.  Why, 
lively  fellers  cannot  be  tied  up  here  in  a  little  town 
any  longer.  You  heard  Doc  Punts  say  that  several 
nights  ago  when  he  was  talking  about  leaving.  A 
feller  has  to  move  along.  I  bet  he'll  go,  too,  some 
day." 

I  listened  to  the  voices  no  further  but  I  hunted  up 
Cam  in  a  kind  of  panic.  I  would  keep  faith  with 
him,  that  was  all. 

"  I'm  a-goin'  all  right,"  I  said  doggedly.  Cam 
was  lying  on  the  grass  looking  at  the  sky. 

"  Sure  you  are,"  said  he,  fixing  his  battery  of  mot- 
tled gray  eyes  on  me.  *'  We're  going  at  four  o'clock 
to-morrow  morning  and  we  ain't  telling  these  Wash- 
tucna fellers  either.  Mebbe  they'd  tell  somebody  to 
stop  us  and  we  don't  want  any  trouble  with  'em. 
We  just  skin  right  out." 

I  was  surprised.  "  There  ain't  any  train  at  four," 
I  suggested  remonstratively,  for  somehow  I  thought 
we  were  going  by  train,  say  in  a  box  car. 

"  Sure  there  ain't,"  he  said  airily,  "  but  we're  walk- 


CAM  CLARKE  277 

ing  and  It's  only  forty-six  miles  to  Spokane  anyway. 
We're  walking  on  account  of  scarcity  of  money  and 
the  inconvenience  of  travelling  like  hoboes." 

I  agreed  that  he  had  a  good  reason.  *'  But  how'll 
we  get  off  without  getting  noticed?  Who's  going  to 
eat  our  breakfast  for  us?  They'll  miss  us  first 
thing." 

Cam  had  it  all  fixed.  Through  his  life  he  always 
had  things  fixed.  "  It's  this  way,  Mart,"  said  he, 
winking  as  solemnly  as  a  grown  person,  "  it's  this 
way.  To-night  at  supper  we  tell  our  mothers  and 
sisters  and  such  people  that  we're  gettin'  up  early 
and  goln'  to  early  breakfast  at  Rusher's  so's  to  get 
out  to  Pine  Creek  for  some  good  fishing.  What  we 
really  do  is  to  get  out  to  Tom  Warren's  for  break- 
fast down  on  Pine  Creek ;  and  gee  I  I  bet  he  has 
fine  breakfasts."     I  refused  this  wager. 

"  How'U  we  wake  up  ?     I  sleep  awful  hard." 

**  You  stay  with  me  and  I'll  wake  up  all  right," 
replied  Cam. 

We  talked  things  over  still  further  and  framed  our 
lies  up  in  detail  and  then  we  sneaked  down  for  old 
time's  sake  to  Jimmy  Day's  flat,  where  Cam  and  I 
had  first  seen  each  other.  That  seemed  ages  ago, 
but  we  could  pick  out  the  exact  spots  where  the  mare 
bucked  and  where  I  struck  on  my  head.  That  place 
was  not  any  comfort  to  us;  it  hurt  us  inside  some- 
way. So  then  we  sneaked  in  through  Sarah  Clarke's 
back  door  and  into  Cam's  room,  and  while  she  went 
driving  with  John  Bradford  we  packed  Cam's  bag- 
gage. There  was  a  little  silver  frame  with  pictures 
of  his  mother  and  father  side  by  side  looking,  oh, 
very  young,  mere  children  as  I  see  it  now;  there  was 


278  CAM  CLARKE 

a  rattlesnake  rattle  from  Rock  Lake;  three  hand- 
kerchiefs, which  seemed  too  many  to  me;  an  old 
valentine  from  Julie  Beauclerc  and  ninety  cents  in 
cash  money.  Everything  else  he  left,  saying  he 
would  send  for  them  when  he  got  a  good  job,  which 
he  guessed  would  not  be  very  long,  as  Mr.  Hirsch- 
lager  could,  as  far  as  was  visible  to  him,  give  a  fel- 
low any  job  on  the  railroad  that  he  pleased. 

Then  Cam  sat  down  at  his  little  bureau  and  told 
me  to  go  out  while  he  composed  a  letter  to  Julie 
Beauclerc  which  was  to  tell  her  (strict  secret)  that 
we  were  going  away  for  good.  Cam  said  I  must  de- 
liver it,  as  of  course  it  was  not  customary  for  young 
gentlemen  to  deliver  their  own  letters  to  their  sweet- 
hearts, and  sometime  he  would  do  the  same  for  me. 
So  I  went  out.  I  suppose  it  took  him  a  long  time  to 
finish  writing  that  letter,  for  I  fell  asleep  in  the  sun. 
I've  always  been  glad  I  did  that;  it  was  one  of  the 
most  refreshing  sleeps  I  have  ever  had  and  I  should 
hate  to  have  missed  it.  When  I  awoke  I  was  game 
for  anything. 

Cam  woke  me  by  dragging  a  rope  across  me.  I 
thought  it  was  a  snake  and  I  jumped  up  and  howled 
like  an  insane  boy  and  afterwards  got  angry,  which 
shows  that  it  was  a  good  joke.  Cam  laughed,  then 
I  laughed,  for  I  suddenly  remembered  that  I  could 
play  the  joke  on  some  one  else.  That  made  me  real- 
ize what  a  masterly  joke  it  was. 

"  Gimme  the  letter  you  been  writin'  so  much,"  I 
said,  "  an'  I'll  take  it  up  to  Julie  right  away." 

He  did,  and  I  thought  it  was  very  handsome,  as  it 
was  sewed  right  through  with  yellow  string  to  keep 
it  shut.     Cam  was  an  original  boy.     And  it  was  per- 


CAM  CLARKE  279 

fumed  and  It  smelled  fine.  I  was  envious  and  wished 
I  could  assemble  such  a  letter  myself;  but  it  takes 
genius  to  do  those  things.  Strangely  enough  it  was 
pretty  clean  too,  that  is,  until  I  took  it.  I  suggested 
to  Cam  that  he  come  along  most  of  the  way  and  keep 
me  company. 

Cam  looked  at  me  wearily.  "  Sometimes,"  he 
said  sadly,  "  I  wish  I  was  goin*  away  alone.  You 
Palouse  fellers  don't  seem  to  savvy  about  carryin' 
letters.  Why,  Mart,  this  Is  a  secret  an'  an  adven- 
ture. How  am  I  goin'  up  there  with  you?  Fm 
stayin'  away  to  deceive  my  enemies,  don't  you  see  ? 
And  even  you  can't  go  straight  up.  You  ought  to 
see  that.  You  got  to  scout  around  and  take  advan- 
tage of  bushes  and  sneak  up  back  of  the  barn  and 
mebbe  hide  in  the  manger.  You  got  to  use  strategy , 
Mart,  so's  to  deceive  them  enemies.  The  boys  in 
Worcester,  Mass.,  always  did  that  way." 

I  indicated  to  him  that  he  did  not  appreciate  me, 
that  I  was  a  pretty  good  strategist  myself  and  that 
I  was  sick  of  Worcester,  "  Mass.,"  and  then  I 
went  off  looking  frequently  behind  fence  posts  and 
such  places  for  Cam's  enemies.  I  might  defy  him  with 
my  voice,  but  I  did  what  he  said.  There  are  people 
like  that  still.  Fortunately  I  did  not  see  any  enemies, 
so  I  met  no  delay  on  the  way.  I  did  not  even  see 
any  up  around  the  Beauclercs'  house.  Nevertheless 
I  executed  all  of  Cam's  Instructions  and  did  stunts 
of  my  own  in  the  way  of  enemy  hunting,  until  I  felt 
tired  as  if  I  had  spent  the  day  in  a  gymnasium.  Then 
I  sneaked  up  on  my  stomach  through  the  grass  to 
the  shade  of  a  young  poplar  tree  where  Julie  was 
swinging  her  doll  in  a  hammock  and  I  whispered 


28o  CAM  CLARKE 

hoarsely,  "  Julie  Beauclerc  I  "  This,  I  was  sure, 
was  about  the  most  improved  thing  in  strategy  there 
was. 

She  made  a  little  scream,  but  when  she  saw  who  it 
was,  she  ran  at  me  and  slapped  me.  That  was  just 
like  her,  I  should  have  felt  sure  it  was  she  if  it  had 
been  midnight.  It  hurt  me  a  little,  but  I  did  not  mind, 
for  she  was  Julie  Beauclerc.  However,  I  pretended 
I  did  mind.     I  sat  down  very  leisurely  and  said: 

"Julie  Beauclerc,  I  am  surprised  at  you;  but  I 
s'pose  it's  just  ign'rance.  You  ain't  got  any  idea 
what  dangers  I've  run  to  see  you,  with  Cam's  enemies 
hidin'  around  every  place,  and  everything."  And 
then  I  suddenly  lay  down  on  my  stomach  and 
squirmed  and  looked  around  according  to  my  ideas 
of  a  scout  using  strategy. 

Of  course  Julie  was  sorry  right  away  when  she 
saw  what  I  was  doing.  She  said  she  had  misjudged 
me  and  she  dodged  behind  the  gooseberries  to  help 
hunt  enemies  herself.  But  she  did  not  find  any 
either  and  she  came  back.  "  What  is  it.  Mart,  that 
Cam  wants?  "  she  whispered  very  cautiously  so  the 
enemies  could  not  hear. 

I  gave  her  the  letter  very  secretly  and  turned 
around  to  look  for  the  enemy  again.  When  I 
looked  at  her  she  was  crying  softly,  just  as  long  after 
I  once  saw  a  woman  crying  for  a  lost  child  —  and 
that  woman  was  this  child  grown  up.  Her  crying 
made  me  feel  uncomfortable,  so  I  looked  for  the 
enemy  some  more.  An  enemy  is  a  great  comfort 
at  times. 

Pretty  soon  she  came  over  to  me.  "  I  think  Cam's 
the  noblest  boy  alive,"  she  said,  "  and  I  think  you  are 


CAM  CLARKE  281 

next."  I  modestly  acknowledged  the  compliment  by 
calling  her  a  liar,  which  was  not  very  gracious.  She 
understood  and  showed  me  the  letter.  I  remember 
every  word  of  it. 

''  Dear  Julie: 

"  We  are  going  away  never  to  come  back,  to- 
morrow a.m.  Washtucna  is  all  right  but  there 
ain't  enough  railroads  for  Mart  and  me.  Tie  a 
string  to  your  toe  and  stick  it  out  the  window.  I'll 
pull  it  at  five.  You  can  trust  Mart.  This  is  the 
most  secret  thing  I  ever  wrote. 

"  Yours  truly, 
"  Cameron  Clarke. 

"  P.S.  I  am  taking  your  valentine  with  me  and 
shall  cheerish  it  or  die.  I  read  about  the  string  on 
your  toe  in  a  book." 

I,  too,  thought  that  was  a  noble  letter  and  I  said 
so,  and  while  Julie  went  to  write  an  answer  I  quit 
looking  for  the  enemy  and  utilised  my  strength  in 
stealing  a  piece  of  mince  pie  from  the  spring  house. 
It  was  good  mince  pie  and  tasted  better  because  I  said 
I  had  earned  it. 

When  Julie  came  back  I  was  hiding  from  Cam's 
enemies  again  and  it  took  her  a  long  time  to  find  me. 
She  found  me  near  the  watermelon  patch  asleep  in 
the  sun,  for  the  watermelons  were  green.  I  told  her 
it  was  a  good  thing  the  melons  were  green  because 
if  they  had  been  ripe  I  might  have  become  so  in- 
terested in  them  that  the  enemy  could  have  slipped 
up  upon  me.  She  was  shocked.  She  had  some  fool- 
ish idea  that  stealing  watermelons  from  Mr.  Beau- 
clerc  would  be  dishonest,  although  she  easily  saw  that 


282  Cam  CLARKE 

It  would  be  all  right  to  steal  them  from  other  people. 
Females  are  queer.  I  told  her  any  boy  would  know 
better.  So  she  gave  me  the  note  to  Cam  and,  as  the 
question  of  the  watermelon  was  purely  academic,  I 
came  away  without  further  argument,  looking  for 
enemies  every  step. 

It  was  almost  supper  time  when  I  got  back  to  the 
Clarkes'  and  I  was  tired  and  hungry.  Sarah  Clarke 
was  lying  down,  while  Cam  with  a  lump  over  his  eye- 
brow was  reading  a  book  about  another  boy  who  had 
run  away  from  home.  This  was  to  get  pointers. 
He  wanted  to  do  it  right. 

I  gave  Cam  the  letter.  He  read  it  and  showed 
me  the  signature,  which  said,  "  yours  forever, 
Julie ; ''  and  asked  me  if  that  was  not  fine.  I  said  it 
was,  but  I  giggled  and  asked  him  who  had  pasted  the 
hen  egg  onto  his  eyebrow.  He  said  he  had  hunted 
up  Sandy  and  had  picked  a  fight  with  him  just  for  old 
times'  sake  and  because  he  was  lonesome  and  home- 
sick on  account  of  being  about  to  leave  the  place. 
He  had  a  hard  time  making  Sandy  fight,  he  said, 
and  he  had  a  hard  time  licking  him,  and  in  doing  it  he 
bumped  his  forehead  on  a  stone.  I  moved  away  and 
giggled  some  more.  That  riled  Cam  and  our  plan 
for  running  away  was  in  grave  jeopardy.  We 
"  jawed  "  back  and  forth  and  I  told  him  he  better 
not  pick  a  fight  *'  off  me."  But  we  patched  up  peace 
and  were  better  friends  than  ever  and  more  deter- 
mined to  run  away.  We  both  went  to  our  homes  to 
supper  on  time,  to  disarm  our  families'  suspicions. 
I  do  not  believe  it  was  a  good  method  of  disarming 
them.  It  might  just  as  well  have  put  them  on  their 
guard. 


CAM  CLARKE  283 

That  night  we  walked  around  town  and  Doc 
Punts  saw  us  and  bought  us  all  the  peanuts  we  could 
eat.  That  hurt  us  too,  so  pretty  soon  we  squirmed 
away  from  him.  Then  we  said  we  would  go  over 
to  my  home  for  a  little  while  and  tell  my  sisters, 
Mary  in  particular,  that  I  was  staying  with  Cam  that 
night.  As  we  came  up,  we  could  see  inside  our  house 
through  the  front  window.  My  little  gray,  shrivelled 
father,  who  was  making  strenuous  efforts  to  attain 
sobriety,  was  reading  by  candle  light  from  a  big 
green-covered  book  of  Irish  Orations.  He  would 
read  a  line  or  two,  walk  up  and  down,  and  then  read 
a  couple  of  lines  more.  This  was  his  only  form  of 
amusement  outside  of  working,  drinking  and  chasing 
his  children.  As  a  consequence  he  could  repeat  you 
from  memory  "  Abhor  the  Sword  '*  or  extracts  from 
Daniel  O'Connell  or  Emmet  or  Burke  for  as  long  a 
time  as  you  had  strength  to  listen.  There  he  was, 
his  little  bullet  head  stooped  over,  wearing  huge 
horn-rimmed  spectacles  and  anon  turning  a  page  with 
his  gnarled  and  crabbed  fingers.  That  hurt  me,  too, 
a  lump  caught  in  my  throat.  Cam  understood;  he 
patted  my  back.  "  All  right.  Mart,  he's  a  nice  little 
feller  after  all,  ain't  he?     But  we  got  to  go." 

We  entered  the  house  somewhat  awkwardly  and 
I  told  my  sister  Mary,  who  is  now  long  since  dead 
of  that  terrible  hacking  cough  which  constantly 
shook  her,  that  I  would  spend  the  night  with  Cam 
and  that  next  day  I  would  go  fishing.  She  with  one 
swift  glance  knew  I  was  lying  but  she  let  it  go ;  prob- 
ably my  lie  would  prove  harmless. 

"  An'  have  a  good  time.  Mart,"  she  called  to  me 
as  I  closed  the  kitchen  door.     That  was  too  much; 


284  Cam  CLARKE 

I  ran  away  into  the  darkness,  Cam  following,  and  I 
realized  what  I  now  so  clearly  see,  that  she  was  a 
noble,  sweet,  generous  girl. 

I  went  home  with  Cam.  Sarah  Clarke  and  Brad- 
ford were  talking  on  the  front  porch.  They  told 
us  they  were  planning  to  take  us  up  Steptoe  Butte 
the  next  Sunday,  then  we  sneaked  off  to  bed,  feeling 
mean  about  that.  Cam  said  he  wished  people 
"  wouldn't  be  so  darned  obligin',"  and  I  wished  so 
too.  There  were  so  many  things  that  made  you  feel 
mean,  so  very  many. 

We  went  to  bed  but  we  did  not  sleep  much.  First 
we  tossed  and  squirmed  and  kicked  around  for  an 
hour,  then  we  §at  up  with  blankets  around  us  and 
talked.  We  counted  our  money.  It  totaled  a  dol- 
lar and  ninety  cents ;  ninety  cents  of  Cam's  and  a  dol- 
lar of  my  own,  which  I  got  for  three  muskrat  skins. 
That  seemed  plenty  to  start  life  with.  Then  we  told 
each  other  over  and  over  again  our  plans  for  life. 
Our  idea  was  not  to  get  married  but  to  be  partners 
always,  in  which  case  a  man  would  not  need  a  wife. 
When  we  owned  a  railroad  and  could  be  engineer 
whenever  we  felt  like  it,  we  thought  we  would  try 
the  cattle  business  and  have  a  Chinese  cook  and  two 
*'  nigger "  cow-boys.  Cam  also  wanted  to  write 
some  books  on  history  and,  though  I  did  not  care 
much  about  that,  I  said  I  would  stay  with  him  ''  till 
his  eyes  turned  yellow,"  however  long  that  may  be. 

We  dressed,  sneaked  out  and  took  another  look 
around  town  and  finally  sat  down  on  the  steps  of  Mr. 
McPetherick's  rickety  Tennessee  Restaurant  and 
Hotel,  the  windows  of  which  were  as  black  as  a 
poUed-angus  cow.     Outside,  however,  it  was  bright 


CAM  CLARKE  285 

moonlight;  the  bunch  grass  shone  with  a  wonder- 
ful wimpling  luster,  frogs  croaked  in  Day's  big 
spring  and  coyotes  probably  howled  dismally  on  the 
very  distant  hill  tops,  but  we  could  not  hear  them, 
which  shows  what  a  city  Washtucna  had  become. 
We  kept  very  quiet,  not  desiring  to  bother  peo- 
ple, and,  besides,  we  did  not  feel  like  talking. 
"  Bimeby  "  we  heard  horse  hoofs  hammering  their 
way  down  the  road  towards  us  and  pretty  soon  Mr. 
Bob  Dalton  jerked  up  his  frozen  eared  cayuse  at  the 
door  of  Jan  Havland's  saloon,  which  still  was  lighted. 
He  swung  off  and  left  Monte  standing,  and  Monte 
waited  patiently,  as  he  was  trained  to  do,  without 
hitching.  Then  we  heard  Bob's  Mexican  spurs  rat- 
tle on  the  floor  as  he  walked  Into  the  bar  room. 

"  Do  you  reckon.  Cam,"  I  asked,  "  that  they  have 
as  Interesting  and  noble  sights  and  sounds  and  hap- 
penln's  in  Spokane  and  such  places  as  they  do  here? 
Do  you  reckon  there  are  many  sports  like  Bob  and 
Monte?" 

Cam  waited  a  long  while  and  then  said,  *'  Let's  go 
to  bed."     I  think  he  doubted  it  himself. 

But  sleeping  was  not  very  good  even  then.  It 
was  frightfully  still.  We  heard  Bob  Dalton  gallop 
towards  home,  heard  Doc  Punts  deliver  himself  of 
a  heroic  yawn  on  the  steps  of  Jan  Havland's,  and 
then  just  frogs  and  singing  insects  and  roosters. 

"  Punts  is  goln'  to  bed,"  said  Cam.  Then  we 
snuggled  up  because  we  were  cold.  Sarah  Clarke 
had  been  wakened.  She  came  in  and  we  pretended 
to  be  asleep  while  she  kissed  us.  It  never  occurred 
to  us  that  she  would  really  miss  Cam  if  he  left.  We 
thought  we  had  that  question  answered  correctly, 


286  CAM  CLARKE 

and  yet  she  seemed  fond  of  him  and  stroked  his  hair 
in  what  she  supposed  to  be  his  sleep. 

Afterwards,  when  it  seemed  to  me  I  had  snoozed 
just  a  minute,  Cam  pulled  my  arm  and  in  the  same 
moment  the  sun  poured  the  room  clear,  running- 
over  full  of  the  loveliest  pale  gold.  Cam  jumped 
up  and  whispered  that  we  must  be  off.  We  dressed 
hastily,  putting  our  little  parcels  of  baggage  in  our 
various  pockets,  and  then  we  came  quietly  out  upon 
the  dew-wet  grass. 

When  we  had  gone  away  a  few  yards,  Cam  turned 
back.  I  waited.  "  She's  asleep,'*  he  said,  return- 
ing hastily.  "  I  just  went  in  to  see.  She's  been  a 
big  help  to  me  all  right." 

There  was  no  one  yet  astir  on  Washtucna's  little 
street.  We  hurried  along  to  the  Beauclerc  house,  a 
mile  away  on  the  hill,  and  stealthily  approached  the 
back  of  it.  Yes,  there  it  was  from  an  upstairs  win- 
dow. Cam  pulled  the  long  piece  of  string  and  little 
Julie  plumped  her  witchingly  pretty  small  face  over 
the  window  sill.  She  made  a  gesture  to  be  silent, 
which  we  did  not  much  need,  for  we  could  hear  peo- 
ple moving  in  the  kitchen,  and  later  we  heard  a  man 
feeding  the  horses  in  the  barn.  We  hid  in  the 
gooseberry  patch  and  presently  little  Julie  met  us 
there.  She  was  frightened  but  her  eyes  sparkled 
and  she  brought  us  two  apples  and  two  tarts,  which 
we  took  vowing  never  to  eat  as  they  were  too  good. 
This  promise  we  were  not  able  to  keep  for  more  than 
a  mile  of  walking;  we  were  hungry. 

Cam  and  Julie,  as  I  remember  it,  were  not  able  to 
do  very  much  talking.  They  were  too  embarrassed. 
I  attributed  it  to  my  presence  and  tried  to  minimize 


CAM  CLARKE  287 

the  handicap  by  looking  for  birds'  nests  In  the  goose- 
berries. But  it  was  not  any  use.  Cam  suddenly 
said,  "Good-bye,  Julie  I'*  Julie  grabbed  him  and 
kissed  him  with  tears  streaming  down  her  face  and 
then  she  turned  and  ran  and  Cam  and  I  also  ran, 
saying  nothing  whatever  to  each  other  for  a  long 
time,  not.  Indeed,  until  we  were  out  upon  the  white, 
dusty  stage  road. 

We  at  once  took  the  road  In  the  Spokane  direc- 
tion and  trudged  along  together  through  the  lovely 
morning,  not  saying  much  because  our  minds  were 
both  looking  over  their  shoulders  Instead  of  ahead. 
But  we  cheered  up  as  we  approached  Tom  Warren's 
and  breakfast.  A  person's  emotions  mostly  run  to 
the  low  end  of  the  scale  when  he  Is  hungry,  at  least 
they  do  until  he  smells  good  food  or  approaches  it. 

We  came  to  Tom's  at  a  lucky  time.  The  old  man 
was  just  frying  bacon  and  eggs  and  when  we  said, 
**  Hello,  Mr.  Warren !  "  right  at  his  elbow,  he 
jumped  and  said  gruffly,  before  he  looked,  that  he 
wished  "  to  hell  "  strangers  would  have  the  manners 
to  knock  at  the  door  Instead  of  "  scaring  people  up  '* 
that  way;  but,  when  he  regained  composure,  he  said 
that  he  was  much  obliged  for  the  company.  When 
we  told  him  we  had  walked  clear  out  there,  of  course 
he  was  surprised,  because  he  had  been  riding  horse- 
back for  so  long  that  he  hardly  knew  walking  could 
be  done  any  more.  He  had  believed  It,  I  suppose, 
to  be  a  lost  art,  like  hanging  by  your  tail  or  knitting 
with  your  toes. 

He  put  on  a  lot  more  food,  delighted,  as  he  had 
truly  said,  to  have  company,  but  nevertheless  from 
force  of  habit  he  growled  about  the  trouble.     But 


288  CAM  CLARKE 

when  he  saw  we  were  too  young  to  understand  that 
growling  was  done  merely  on  principle,  he  cheered 
up  and  told  us  more  stories  about  sea-going;  ones 
this  time  about  Chinese  pirates  that  made  you  shiver. 
And  by  that  time  breakfast  was  ready  and  how  we 
did  eat !  I  suppose  Mr.  Tom  Warren  had  conversa- 
tionally killed  ten  thousand  pirates  that  morning  be- 
fore we  left.     That  was  hospitality  for  you. 

After  breakfast,  to  deceive  poor  old  Tom,  we 
turned  down  to  go  fishing  in  Pine  Creek,  but  when 
we  were  out  of  his  sight  we  again  turned  up  the 
Spokane  stage  road  and  walked  mile  after  mile. 

One  of  the  disadvantages  of  walking  is  that  after 
a  while  you  get  tired.  I  noticed  this  very  soon  and 
I  called  Cam's  attention  to  it  and  warned  him  that  if 
I  had  known  that  beforehand  I  would  not  have  come 
so  far.  He  said  neither  would  he  and  we  wondered 
why  we  had  not  run  away  close  to  home.  But  for 
boys  we  were  pretty  hard  and  we  kept  on,  sweating 
and  talking  and  resting  and  trying  very  resolutely 
not  to  look  back  over  our  shoulders  to  where  Wash- 
tucna  lay. 

By  noon  we  were  at  Olalla,  which  was  thirteen 
miles  from  Washtucna,  and  we  had  a  fine  respectful 
feeling  for  the  total  distance  of  forty-six  miles  which 
we  had  undertaken  to  walk.  Olalla  was  in  those  lat- 
ter days  so  great  a  rival  of  Washtucna's  that  The 
Washtucna  Sun  and  The  Breeze  had  once  for  a  week 
declared  a  truce  and  had  united  their  forces  in  the 
labour  of  piling  obloquy  on  the  head  of  Olalla.  As 
a  result  we  had  rather  an  erroneous  impression  of 
Olalla.  We  fancied  it  would  be  about  a  cross  be- 
tween a  cesspool  and  a  penitentiary  and  that  its  in- 


CAM  CLARKE  289 

habitants  would  be  half  Chinese,  half  dog.  We 
found  that  it  was  actually  much  like  Washtucna. 
This  was  disappointing,  as  disappointing  as  finding 
that  other  people  are  about  as  intelligent  and  virtu- 
ous as  you  yourself  are.  But  it  is  one  of  the  sterling 
virtues  of  the  human  mind  that  such  self-stultifying 
impressions  are  usually  kept  out  by  the  armour  self- 
conceit. 

We  had  dinner  at  the  Olalla  Hotel.  We  enjoyed 
it,  but  the  price  we  paid  injured  our  finances.  That 
dollar  and  ninety  cents  looked  as  small  as  the  forty- 
six  miles  now  looked  large.  But  we  had  eaten  our 
money's  worth,  I  can  see  that  very  clearly  as  I  look 
back,  no  matter  what  we  paid.  My,  how  we  ate! 
Our  idea,  I  believe,  was  to  eat  so  much  that  we  would 
not  want  supper. 

After  dinner  we  were  happy  and,  as  dinner  had 
made  us  feel  sleepy,  we  took  a  cursory  look  at  Olalla 
and  then  went  out  along  the  stage  road  and  went  to 
sleep  In  the  shade.  We  did  not  wake  up  for  two 
hours,  and  when  we  did,  we  went  swimming.  That 
refreshed  us  but  it  took  time  and  as  we  afterwards 
walked  along  we  exerted  our  brains  a  little  and  de- 
cided that  it  would  be  impracticable  to  go  to  Spokane 
that  day,  as  there  were  still  thirty  miles  to  do.  This 
was  not  in  accordance  with  plans  but  there  was  no 
escaping  the  conclusion. 

Along  about  sunset  and  supper  time  we  came  to 
Mr.  Ike  McMickin's  ranch.  There  were  flowers 
growing  around  the  door  and  Cam  said  It  was  his 
opinion,  as  a  human-nature  expert,  that  people 
would  get  well  treated  by  people  who  had  flowers. 
Good  treatment  was  what  I  wanted  for  I  was  as  hoi- 


29a  ^CAM  CLARKE 

low  as  a  drum  with  hunger,  in  spite  of  all  I  had 
eaten  at  lunch,  and  I  was  pretty  tired;  so  I  led  the 
way  in  to  the  door. 

Old  Mr.  McMickin  and  his  wife  were  sitting  in  a 
spotless,  cosy  kitchen  waiting  for  tea  to  boil.  Cam 
put  out  his  chest,  swelled  his  biceps  and  said  he  and 
I  wanted  to  work  for  food  and  bed.  I  presume  we 
did  not  look  like  heavy  workers,  anyway  the  old  peo- 
ple laughed.  We  were  indignant  and,  in  spite  of 
being  tired,  we  were  about  to  leave,  but  the  old  man, 
who  was  very  kind,  threw  his  long  Scotch  arms 
around  us  both  and  set  us  down  by  force  at  a  table 
before  food;  not,  however,  that  he  needed  to  show 
extreme  violence.  In  two  minutes  we  were  eating 
and  old  Mrs.  McMickin  was  plying  us  with  food, 
with  questions  and  with  gossip.  I  believe  we  fell 
asleep  at  table ;  at  any  rate  I  don't  remember  much 
until  morning. 

These  two  old  people  treated  us  well.  Cam  did 
all  the  lying  and  he  did  it  so  perfectly  that  Mrs. 
McMickin  wept  when  he  recounted  how  we  were 
homeless  orphans  from  Walla  Walla  who  were  go- 
ing to  Spokane  to  live  with  a  relative.  They  wanted 
to  adopt  us  themselves  but  we  nobly  put  them  away. 
No,  we  would  go  on.  So  the  old  lady  gave  us  a 
lunch  to  put  in  our  pockets  and  Mr.  McMickin  took 
us  ^ve  miles  on  the  road  in  a  buckboard.  As  we 
left,  Mrs.  McMickin  was  clucking  like  an  old  hen. 
It  was  all  very  pleasing  to  us  but  we  were  far  too 
much  grown  up  to  show  it.  We  acted  as  though 
we  were  used  to  it.  There  is  nothing  like  being  men 
of  the  world. 

That  was  a  long  day  of  walking.     We  omitted 


CAM  CLARKE  291 

sleeping  in  the  shade,  swimming  and  such  restful 
diversions  and  just  walked  and  walked.  We  got 
blisters,  we  became  so  tired  that  we  wobbled,  but  we 
kept  on;  and  we  went  so  well  that  at  about  six  we 
were  on  the  edge  of  Spokane.  But  Spokane's  edges 
were  long  and  it  took  nearly  all  our  strength  to  fin- 
ish. 

Spokane  was  disconcerting.  There  were  a  great 
many  more  people  there  than  we  had  expected,  many 
more  horses  and  fewer  tents  than  I  remembered. 
The  place  had  grown  immensely  in  two  years.  We 
had  expected  to  meet  Mr.  Hirschlager  on  some 
street  corner  or  to  go  straight  to  his  house ;  but  both 
he  and  his  house  seemed  elusive.  There  were  too 
many  houses  around  and  too  many  people  on  the  cor- 
ners. How  could  the  place  have  so  grown?  You 
could  not  locate  anybody  or  anything.  And  actually 
there  were  street  cars,  and  we  did  not  understand 
street  cars.  Further,  we  could  not  wait,  we  were 
too  hungry ;  so  we  spent  all  our  remaining  money  for 
food. 

The  food  gave  us  both  strength  and  a  little  in- 
telligence and  we  went  after  the  house  like  the 
sleuths  in  detective  stories  and  we  found  it.  It  was 
a  big  house  with  large  grounds  and  with  a  lawn  that 
I  thought  was  like  velvet.  I  was  mistaken,  but  at 
least  I  had  never  seen  such  a  lawn.  As  we  ap- 
proached. It  was  dark.  We  saw  that  the  house  was 
all  lighted  and  we  saw  a  large  party  of  people  in  the 
dining-room.  We  lost  courage  at  that  and  went  out 
and  sat  on  the  fence  and  waited  for  the  party  to  go. 
It  was  a  long  wait  and  sometimes  we  dozed.  Sud- 
denly Cam  prodded  me ;  he  could  always  stay  awake 


292  CAM  CLARKE 

better  than  I.  Carriages  were  leaving.  We 
watched  them  whirl  away.  It  was  like  the  best  of 
your  dreams,  beautiful,  entrancing,  romantic.  I 
was  now  glad  I  had  left  Washtucna.  You  never  saw 
such  things  there.  I  decided  I  liked  very  well  being 
a  newsboy,  and  I  wonderd  if  such  boys  had  car- 
riages too.  But  from  whence  came  carriages  and 
street  cars  ?  Who  in  Spokane  was  it  that  possessed 
Aladdin's  lamp?     They  must  have  come  by  magic. 

The  Hirschlagers  sat  down  by  themselves  on  the 
veranda,  their  company  all  gone.  We  hurried  to- 
wards them  across  the  lawn  and  started  up  the  steps. 

"What  do  you  boys  want?"  asked  Mr.  Hirsch- 
lager  in  rather  harsh  tones  of  our  shadows.  He  did 
not  recognise  us  yet.  My  heart  swelled  until  it  was 
as  large  as  a  watermelon.  I  could  not  speak.  Sup- 
pose the  man  had  forgotten  us.  But  Cam  could 
speak  and  he  did. 

He  pulled  off  his  hat  and  stepped  forward  smartly 
in  all  those  wonderful  surroundings  and  trappings  of 
grandeur  and  said  politely, 

"  How  do  you  do,  sir?  Fm  Cam  Clarke  and 
this  is  Mart  Campin  from  Washtucna.  We  walked 
up  from  Washtucna  to  see  you,  sir,  like  you  said  to 
do  when  we  needed  a  friend.  We  want  to  go  rail- 
roading sir,  and  I  hope  it  ain't  too  late  at  night; 
but  we've  been  waiting." 

And  then  from  fright  and  embarrassment  and  nat- 
ural stupidity  I  could  not  see  anything,  but  it  seemed 
to  me  that  about  a  hundred  women  and  men  gathered 
Cam  and  me  up  together  and  hugged  us,  and  the 
women  kissed  us  and  cried,  and  the  men  shouted  and 
stamped  their  feet.     And  all  those  women  and  men 


CAM  CLARKE  293 

were  just  Mr.  and  Mrs.  HIrschlager.  They  patted 
us  and  scolded  us  and  gave  us  chairs  and  candies  and 
cake  and  milk  and,  the  next  thing  I  knew,  Cam  and 
I  were  tumbUng  over  each  other  to  tell  everything; 
and  we  all  seemed  to  be  crying.  We  told  every- 
thing, threw  all  cargo  overboard  and  felt  better. 
We  had  not  realized  what  a  load  we  carried.  Then 
they  packed  us  off  to  bed  in  wonderful  clean  sheets, 
in  a  spacious,  airy,  white  room  next  to  a  bath- 
room with  lace  curtains  and  towels  in  it.  It  all 
seemed  to  me  too  good  to  use. 

The  last  thing  I  heard  was  that  Mr.  Hirschlager 
was  sending  a  special  engine  with  his  car  to  Wash- 
tucna  to  get  Sarah  Clarke  and  Bradford.  I  won- 
dered dimly  why,  but  did  not  much  care ;  I  was  too 
tired. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

WHY  Mr.  Hirschlager  sent  the  special  train 
for  Mrs.  Clarke  and  John  Bradford  instead 
of  sending  Cam  and  me  to  Washtucna  I  do 
not  understand,  unless  he  merely  wanted  to  see 
Bradford  and  Sarah.  Nor  do  I  know  the  history 
of  that  special  train  after  it  left  except  that  it  went 
fast.  I  know  it  went  fast,  because  Ben  Whitten  was 
engineer  and  he  told  me  so  himself,  and  Ben  knows 
fast  as  well  as  any  one.  I  may  as  well  mention  that 
this  was  in  those  good  reliable  days  before  there  was 
any  legal  limit  on  the  number  of  hours  a  man  could 
drive  engines  without  rest  or  any  practical  limit  to 
his  opportunities  for  killing  people.  Ben  hurried 
because  he  had  just  returned  on  "  number  nine  " 
from  the  Palouse  branch  and  in  Washtucna  he  had 
heard  that  Cam  and  I  were  missing.  Now,  like  every 
one  else  who  had  ever  visited  Washtucna,  he  was 
anxious  to  do  Sarah  Clarke  a  service;  this  was  his 
chance,  so  he  hurried.  It  was  he  who  would  bring 
her  first  word  of  the  run-aways,  for  at  night,  after 
the  fashion  of  small  towns,  Washtucna  received  no 
telegrams.  Likewise  he  hurried  because  he  was 
tired  on  account  of  previous  exertions  covering  a 
period  of  somewhat  more  than  sixteen  hours. 

Poor  Sarah  Clarke  was,  of  course,  not  asleep  that 
night,  a  fact  which  Cam  and  I  were  utterly  unable  to 

294 


CAM  CLARKE  295 

comprehend  when  we  were  Informed  of  it  later.  In- 
stead, she  was  wandering  around  her  little  house  like 
the  very  shadow  of  woe.  Nor  was  John  Bradford 
asleep.  He  and  Doc  Punts  were  sitting  in  the  lat- 
ter's  office  smoking  strong  cigars  and  guessing 
where  the  "  little  devils "  were.  And  I  believe 
there  was  even  some  wakefulness  In  my  own  family 
that  night.  Consequently  the  traia  had  but  a  small 
wait  in  Washtucna.  In  about  fifteen  minutes  the 
engineer  had  notified  my  father  that  I  was  safe,  had 
pumped  his  engine  around  the  turntable,  had 
gathered  in  Bradford,  Sarah  Clarke  and  also  Punts, 
in  the  character  of  attending  physician,  had  hooked 
on  anew  to  the  car  and  was  off  for  Spokane  with  a 
very  light-hearted  party  aboard.  Ben  told  me  aft- 
erwards that  his  speed  on  the  return  trip  was  *'  ex- 
cussive.'*  I  believe  him  implicitly.  It  was  not 
necessary,  but  the  West  believes  things  should  be 
done  smartly.  His  speed  was  undoubtedly  "  ex- 
cusslve,"  but  no  one  seems  to  have  been  killed,  which 
is  enough. 

The  party  arrived  to  Cam  and  me  In  our  palatial 
bed-room  with  great  shouting  just  as  it  was  dim  day. 
First  were  Sarah  Clarke  and  John  Bradford,  then 
Doc  Punts  and  the  Hirschlagers.  They  all  came 
in  pell-mell  and  in  an  Instant  Sarah  Clarke's  arms 
were  around  Cam  and  she  was  sobbing  "  Oh-oh-oh- 
oh.'*  Then  we  all  shouted  louder  than  ever  to  make 
each  other  believe  that  It  was  a  very  gay  occasion,  for 
Sarah  Clarke's  tears  hurt  us  all  more  than  sickness 
and  surgery.  We  could  not  one  of  us  remember  that 
she  had  ever  before  cried  in  our  presence  like  this, 
unreservedly  and  with  heart  and  soul  and  body.     We 


296  CAM  CLARKE 

had  seen  slow  dropping  tears  before,  but  nothing 
hke  this. 

Cam  and  I  sat  up  and  we  all  chattered  until  the  red 
sun  flung  a  quiver  of  light  into  the  bed-room.  Then 
Mrs.  Hirschlager  drove  everybody  to  bed.  "  No- 
body's had  a  wink  but  these  fiendish  boys,  and  they 
do  not  deserve  sleep,"  she  complained  playfully. 
*'  But  now  we'll  go  get  forty  winks  at  least." 

When  it  was  quiet  again  in  the  bed-room,  Cam  said 
he  thought  we  had  the  "  wrong  steer  "  on  Sarah 
Clarke's  not  missing  us.  "  I  like  railroadin'  first 
rate,  Mart,"  he  said,  "  but  I  see  I'll  have  to  give  it 
up;  a  feller  has  family  duties.  Mart.  You  see  I 
gotta  quit  it." 

I  said,  "  Sure  he  has  family  duties,"  but  I  could 
not  remember  that  I  possessed  any  great  quantity. 
That,  though,  was  my  mistake.  Sister  Mary  must 
have  mingled  sobs  that  night  with  her  hacking  cough. 

"  But,  gee,  it's  fine  here!  I  like  railroadin',"  said 
I;  "  I  hate  to  quit  it.  Do  you  s'pose  newsboys  alius 
sleep  in  places  like  this?  "  Cam  was  asleep  before  I 
finished. 

That  morning,  at  a  late  breakfast,  which,  some- 
how, was  not  so  very  gay.  Punts,  who  had  been  hold- 
ing entirely  aloof  from  conversation,  suddenly 
slammed  his  knife  and  fork  on  the  table  with  violence 
and  grated  fiercely,  "  Ladies  and'  gents,  this  trouble 
is  all  caused  by  paltry  hesitations  and  waitings ;  such 
things  always  make  trouble.  Mrs.  Clarke  here  and 
John  Bradford  are,  I  believe,  legally  contracted  to 
marry  each  other  —  but  they  don't  do  it.  Why  not? 
How  can  young  boys  know  what  to  do  when  grown 
folks  ain't  decided  in  their  actions?     Is  there  any 


CAM  CLARKE  297 

reason  for  this  here  tergiversatlous  and  waiting  con- 
duct—  no,  sir  I  Mrs.  Hirschlager,  I  vote  that  we 
marry  off  this  here  couple  to-night,  and  right  here 
in  Spokane.     I'm  tired  waiting.     Ain't  you?" 

The  Hirschlagers  and  Cam  and  I  shouted  and 
banged  the  table.  Sarah  Clarke  and  Bradford 
blushed  and  looked  at  their  plates,  but  as  the  uproar 
continued  they  looked  at  each  other  questioningly. 
They  had  not  thought  of  it  before.  "  Well,  why 
not?  "  said  their  glances. 

"  I  am  not  dressed  — "  protested  Mrs.  Clarke 
mildly,  with  the  true  feminine  instinct  in  such  mat- 
ters. And  she  cast  her  fine  eyes  over  her  skirt  with 
gentle  disapproval.  She  really  was  already  nearly 
persuaded.  Her  words  were  but  the  echoes  of  a  re- 
mark repeated  by  all  the  daughters  of  Eve  for  ten 
thousand  generations. 

*'  I'll  fix  you  for  a  dress ;  you  can  wear  my  wedding 
dress,"  put  in  Mrs.  Hirschlager,  "  it'll  fit  all  right. 
It's  been  worn  by  my  grandmother  and  my  mother 
and  me,  it'll  fit  anybody." 

"  Anyhow,  I'd  have  to  go  to  Washtucna  for 
things,"  Mrs.  Clarke  remonstrated.  "  I  have  noth- 
ing with  me  but  what  I  wear  at  this  moment." 

*'  Another  special  train  goes  back  to  Washtucna 
to-day  at  noon  for  your  special  accommodation,  un- 
less I  lose  my  job  within  the  next  two  hours;  and 
that'll  surely  get  you  back  early  for  the  wedding," 
said  Mr.  Hirschlager,  studying  his  watch  and  clos- 
ing it  decisively.  "  I  guess  it's  all  right.  You  fix 
everything  in  the  house,  Fanny.  I'll  have  the  train 
ready.  I'll  get  music  and  Boseman's  will  furnish  the 
refreshments.     I'll  see  to  that,  too." 


298  ---CAM  CLARKE 

"  We'll  want  that  special  train  to  haul  up  some 
friends  from  Washtucna  for  us,"  said  Punts  firmly. 
"  Washtucna  has  an  official  interest  in  this  function. 
Washtucna  won't  stand  to  be  ignored." 

"  We  could  put  on  a  spare  coach  besides  my  car," 
cogitated  Mr.  Hirschlager  aloud,  his  hands  resting 
contemplatively  on  his  well-rounded  stomach. 
**  We'll  do  that.  You  better  wire  Washtucna  what 
is  doing —  right  away,  too." 

"  Let's  do  it,  Sarah !  "  exclaimed  Bradford,  rising 
with  vigour. 

"  All  right,  John,"  she  said  gently.     "  All  right." 


The  wedding  was  held  at  nine  and,  except  the 
Hirschlagers  and  the  parson,  there  was  nobody  pres- 
ent but  Washtucna  people.  But  Washtucna  was 
there  in  force.  In  the  centre  of  things  were  the 
solemn  Beauclercs,  the  short-winded  Rushers,  Mr. 
Bob  Dalton,  shining  like  the  sun  and  threatening  to 
burst  his  new  clothes  around  the  biceps;  Mr.  Pete 
Barker,  self-possessed  and  as  graceful  and  elegant 
as  a  black  panther;  Doc  Punts,  giving  all  external 
evidence  of  being  in  a  rage ;  silent,  surly,  manly  Tom 
Warren;  Jan  Havland,  John  Donnelly;  Mr. 
Skookum  Jones,  arrayed  like  the  flowers  and  his 
hands  trembling  with  palsy.  Behind  and  about  them 
were  fifty  more  Washtucnans,  my  father  amongst 
them;  but  not  Miss  May  Caylor.  That  lady  did  not 
accept  the  general  invitation,  but  she  sent  a  letter. 

The  good  wishes  of  the  guests  at  that  wedding 
were  extraordinarily  hearty,  as  was  evinced  by  the 
vigour  of  the  handshakes  and  kisses,  the  sharpness 


CAM  CLARKE  299 

and  deepness  of  the  cheers  and  the  fervour  with 
which  they  threw  rice  and  shoes  at  the  departing 
couple. 

Cam  was  to  go  on  the  journey  with  the  wedded 
pair.  That  was  decided.  But  where  would  they 
go?  when  return? 

There  was  a  second  carriage  at  the  door  for  Cam 
and  I  jumped  in  with  him  and  we  got  the  overflow 
of  rice  and  shoes. 

"  We're  goin'  to  Vermont,  Mart,"  he  said,  when 
we  were  on  the  way  to  the  depot.  "  I  just  found  out. 
We're  goin'  to  Vermont.  I  wish  I  could  go  rail- 
roadin'  with  you,  but  you  see  how  it  is;  a  feller  has 
his  duties  to  do." 

"  Gee,  I'll  be  lonesome,"  I  said. 

"  You're  to  go  right  back  to  Hirschlager's  in  this 
carriage,  Mart.  He's  goin'  to  see  about  you,  he  told 
me  so  himself.  It's  all  fixed  all  right  for  you.  You 
can  go  railroadin'  if  you  like.  Mr.  Hirschlager 
really  wants  you  to." 

And  then  we  were  arrived  at  a  noisy  passenger  sta- 
tion. People  standing  around  were  talking  with 
easy  familiarity  of  St.  Paul  and  New  York  and  Butte 
and  then  atop  of  that  the  overland  express  rolled  in 
with  a  gale  of  wind  on  her  flanks  and  a  volcano  of 
wrath  and  fire  burning  in  her  belly.  I  was  be- 
wildered. Cam  shoved  his  new  jack-knife  into  my 
hand,  a  parting  present;  Sarah  Clarke  kissed  and 
hugged  me;  John  Bradford  gripped  my  shoulder  un- 
til it  hurt  and  slipped  a  banknote  into  my  pocket; 
then  they  were  gone.  The  train  groaned  and 
whined,  there  were  shouts  and  mysterious  wavings 
of  lanterns  —  and  I,  alone  on  the  broad  platform, 


\ 


300  "cam  CLARKE 

was  watching  the  last  glimpses  of  three  figures  on 
the  platform  of  the  observation  car. 

Back  at  the  Hirschlagers',  when  I  arrived,  there 
was  gay  music  and  they  were  dancing  in  good,  gen- 
erous Washtucna  style,  feet  coming  down  flat  and 
hard  in  a  quadrille  and  Doc  Punts  vigorously  call- 
ing the  changes.  "  Balance  all!  "  Little  Skookum 
Jones,  with  admirable  nimbleness,  pranced  before  fat 
Mrs.  Rusher,  while  my  father,  for  extra  measure, 
cast  in  some  old-country  jig  steps  for  the  edification 
and  education  of  Mrs.  Hirschlager,  with  whom  he 
was  dancing.  Mr.  Pete  Barker,  with  pious  de- 
meanour, talked  to  Mrs.  Beauclerc  at  the  door  of 
the  conservatory,  and  Mr.  Bob  Dalton,  all  his  clothes 
bulging  out  with  muscles,  patted  juba  by  the  fire- 
place and  emitted  the  strange  cries  of  a  cow-puncher. 

I  tried  to  watch,  but  I  could  not  stand  it,  so  I  fled 
to  bed  alone.  I  lay  a  long  while  just  thinking  and 
looking  at  the  blackness.  Then  Mrs.  Hirschlager 
stole  softly  in.  I  closed  my  eyes  and  feigned  sleep. 
She  kneeled  down  over  me  and  kissed  me  just  as 
Sarah  Clarke  had  done ;  then  she  tip-toed  out  again. 

So  said  I,  *'  Cam  is  gone."  And  I  heard  the  rails 
clatter  under  his  train.  He  would  be  by  now  in  the 
big  Idaho  woods.  Were  his  and  Sarah  Clarke's 
wonderful  mottled  eyes  filled  with  tears?  How  far 
was  Vermont?  would  they  ever  come  back?  Lone- 
someness  was  hard  on  a  "  feller." 

And  still  the  joyful  music  squeaked  up  from  below 
I  and  people's  feet  shuffled  as  though  they  were  gay; 
but,  oh,  they  could  not  have  been. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  next  morning,  before  breakfast,  I  took  up 
relations  with  my  father  by  the  highly  subtle 
artifice  of  saying  "  good  morning  "  to  him. 
The  device  worked  and  I  felt  as  smart  as  Cam  Clarke 
because  it  did.  My  father  and  I  were  both  In- 
formal people  and  we  really  understood  each  other 
pretty  well.  The  little  man  had  been  kept  a  guest 
in  the  house  over  night,  and  that  morning  he  felt 
well  physically  and  he  was  flattered  by  the  Hlrsch- 
lagers'  acquaintance.  Never  had  he  expected  to 
visit  such  people.  Conseqeuntly,  he  was  mild  and 
cheerful  and  talkative,  and  he  was  willing  to  entirely 
ignore  the  whole  transaction  of  my  running  away. 
Indeed,  to  people  of  his  breed  running  away  was  a 
commonplace  thing,  as  natural  as  falling  in  love  or 
going  swimming;  a  thing  which  you  might  discourage, 
but  one  which  was  sure  to  happen.  He  came  down 
the  broad  stairs  to  breakfast  perfectly  self-possessed 
and  humming  a  peasant  song  about  some  fairies  who 
pushed  a  cartload  of  butter  up  a  steep  hill  to  help  a 
man  who  was  tired.  And,  as  we  went  in  together, 
he  put  his  little  knotted  hand  on  my  head  and  winked 
at  me.  Suddenly  I  liked  him.  There  was  some- 
thing of  the  dignity  of  a  savage  In  that  little  bent  old 
man,  and  he  had  a  sound  sense  of  propriety  and 
manners.  Nothing  could  disturb  or  embarrass  him 
or  paralyze  his  self-respect. 

301 


302  CAM  CLARKE 

The  HIrschlagers  liked  my  father.  The  break- 
fast conversation  was  lively,  thanks  to  him;  for,  no 
matter  how  stupid  things  are,  an  Irishman  can  always 
rub  the  corners  of  his  wits  together  and  get  a  spark 
of  merriment  or  tears.  Of  course  the  Hirschlagers 
could  not  well  have  helped  seeing  that  my  father  had 
no  sense,  no  more  sense  than  a  horse ;  and  a  horse, 
despite  the  phrase  *'  horse  sense,"  is  only  a  fool  with 
a  good  memory.  Any  dog  is  Isaac  Newton  along- 
side a  horse.  But  that  does  not  prevent  your  liking 
a  horse.  They  thought  my  father  delightful,  and  so 
he  was ;  even  as  a  parent  he  was  delightful.  He  had 
led  me,  up  till  then,  a  very  interesting  life,  thanks  to 
his  truly  original  conception  of  the  relations  which 
should  exist  between  parent  and  child.  I  ought  to 
be  the  last  to  deny  his  charm. 

The  conversation  fell  upon  the  question  of  my 
future.  Mr.  Hirschlager  said  that  if  I  still  wanted 
to  go  railroading  he  would  help  me  to  a  job.  I  was 
in  no  doubt  about  it.  I  got  a  big  lump  in  my  throat 
as  I  thought  of  Cam  and  I  said  loudly  and  firmly 
that  I  had  no  desire  whatever  to  go  railroading. 
And  so  it  was  decided  that  I  was  to  go  home,  where- 
upon my  father  fondly  patted  me  on  the  back  and 
winked.  But  I  have  not  forgotten  the  kindness  of 
that  offer  of  Hirschlager's,  nor  the  tear  that  Mrs. 
Hirschlager  spilled  when  I  left  her.  She  is  an  old 
lady  now.  Last  year  I  travelled  from  Philadelphia 
to  Boston  just  to  see  her  and  say  I  remembered.  I 
shall  not  forget  that  while  I  live.  Such  things  are 
the  breath  of  life. 

My  father  and  I  went  down  to  Washtucna  on  the 
forenoon  train.     I  was  glad  to  see  the  place,  as  I 


CAM  CLARKE  303 

felt  that  I  had  been  away  for  months.  I  expected 
great  changes  and  I  had  not  been  back  five  minutes 
when  I  felt  it  really  was  changed.  It  seemed  fine, 
though,  to  see  sister  Mary  again,  who  cried  and 
laughed,  while  baby  Maggie  pulled  my  fingers  and 
intimated  that  she,  too,  was  glad  I  had  come  back. 
The  others  begged  for  adventures  and  I  told  them 
ours,  whereupon  they  sniffed  as  though  their  adven- 
tures at  home  had  been  better ;  which  now  indicates 
to  me  that  I  was  not  very  eloquent.  I  was  not  de- 
ceived, though,  I  felt  still  very  important;  but  it  was 
an  empty  sort  of  importance,  for  Cam  was  not  there 
to  help  me  think  well  of  myself.  I  settled  down, 
however,  and  took  my  place  in  the  scheme  of  things 
and  tried  to  be  satisfied.  I  fought  with  Sandy 
Rusher  and  Sim  Horlacker  and  used  every  method 
I  knew  to  produce  self-content,  but  it  was  no  use; 
Washtucna  was  changed  and  I  did  not  like  the  place 
any  more. 

Yes,  Wushtucna  really  was  changed.  Other 
people  felt  it  besides  me.  It  was  passing  through  a 
critical  period.  It  was  settling  down.  The  froth  and 
the  ferment  and  the  rainbows  were  dying;  also  some 
other  things.  Washtucna  was  about  to  become  a 
farming  village,  whereas,  before,  it  had  been  a  fron- 
tier settlement.  And  there  were  people  there  who 
were  not  suited  to  live  in  a  farming  village.  Some 
did  not  consciously  see  what  was  the  matter,  but  they 
felt  it  and  they  chafed  and  fretted  and  said  the  town 
was  dead.  There  had  ceased  to  be  extraordinary 
hopes  and  fears  and  hatreds  abroad  such  as  these 
frontier  townsmen  lived  upon.  Saints  and  Sinners 
had  lost  interest  in  strife  and  there  was  but  little 


304  CAM  CLARKE 

talk  of  cattle  and  horse  stealing.  Indeed,  people 
now  kept  stock  fenced  up,  stealing  was  difficult. 
And  everything  began  to  be  wheat  —  wheat,  wheat, 
wheat  —  or  hinged  upon  wheat.  Wheat  was  the 
landscape  and  the  hope  and  the  fear  of  people. 
There  were  those  who  thought  and  dreamed  and 
slept  wheat.  But  Punts  and  Bob  Dalton  and  Pete 
Barker  were  not  of  these  and  could  not  become  of 
them.  I  heard  them  talking  one  morning  In  Punts' 
office,  Into  which,  In  a  spirit  of  scientific  inquiry,  I 
had  poked  my  nose.  They  were  all  walking  around, 
feverishly,  as  one  might  say,  and  they  were  talking 
of  old  times.  They  recalled  enthusiastically  mem- 
ories of  the  hanging  of  Whitey  McGrath  and  of  the 
building  of  the  Widow  Clarke's  house,  and  indicated 
a  belief  that  such  acts  were  highly  virtuous  and  noble 
and  heroic. 

This  reminded  me  that  I  must  go  to  the  post-office 
to  see  if  there  were  a  letter  from  Cam.  He  had 
promised  to  write  but  the  promise  was  not  thus  far 
redeemed,  and  it  was  high  time.  I  went  out  and 
this  time  I  got  the  letter.  I  took  it  around  the  cor- 
ner, beyond  the  new  brick  church,  and  read  it.  It 
went: 

''  Dear  Mart: 

"  We  are  visiting  with  grandma  Bradford  here  In 
Kingtown,  Vermont.  It  Is  named  that  because  once 
they  asked  the  King  of  England  to  come  here  for  a 
visit,  but  he  didn't.  That  was  several  years  ago  and 
I  ain't  seen  (grandma  wants  me  to  stop  saying  ain't, 
which  is  unreasoning,  as  Bob  Dalton  said  it)  any- 
body that  actually  saw  it,  so  it  ain't  as  good  as  Wash- 


CAM  CLARKE  305 

tucna  which  had  the  Governor  stay  over  nite  as  you 
remember  yourself.  We're  going  to  stay  here  for 
good,  as  the  people  that  minded  papa  shooting  Mr. 
McManus  that  time  have  got  used  to  the  idea  includ- 
ing the  sheriff.  And  now  I  think  they're  going  to 
elect  papa  sheriff  or  governor  or  something  like  that 
and  he'll  be  saif.  It's  a  nice  place  in  some  ways  but 
not  like  Washtucna.  Nobody  was  ever  linched  here 
or  shot,  except  McManus  and  nobody  wears  shaps. 
There  is  a  boy  here  named  Arthur  Cameron,  which 
is  proved  to  be  my  cousin  so  we  had  a  fight  because 
a  curlew  has  such  a  long  bill.  I  told  him  about  it  and 
he  said  I  lied.  I  licked  and  we're  friends  but  not  like 
you  and  me  and  he's  fat  and  jolly.  There  ain't  any 
coyotes  but  lots  of  skunks.  We  ain't  ever  coming  to 
Washtucna  except  when  I  grow  up  and  come  to  live 
there  and  be  marshal  so  you  tell  Julie  and  Sandy. 
Papa  thinks  maybe  next  winter  him  and  Sarah  Clarke 
will  come  for  a  while  to  look  after  business  but  I  can't 
as  I'll  be  at  a  private  school  in  Rutland.  The 
teachers  Art  says  don't  chew  tobacco  like  Jim  Stilson 
and  there  ain't  any  Chinese  laundry  to  tick-tack  and 
I  wish  you  was  here.  People  ride  trolley  cars  in- 
stead of  horses. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  Cam." 

They  were  not  coming  back.  My  internal  feelings 
got  twisted  again  and  I  walked  along  sort  of  dizzily 
until  I  came  to  Punts'  office.  Mr.  Pete  Barker,  Mr. 
Bob  Dalton  and  Doc  Punts  were  standing  around 
looking  bored  and  gazing  outdoors  into  the  dazzling 
sunlight. 


3o5  CAM  CLARKE 

I  swallowed  a  lump.  "  They  ain't  never  comin' 
back/'  I  said  heavily,  and  I  handed  the  letter  to 
Punts  and  sat  down  desolately  in  his  big  leather  chair. 
They  all  knew  what  it  was  and  looked  up.  Punts 
read  the  letter  aloud  and  they  all  laughed  in  places 
and  spat  and  talked  admiring  profane  language  sotto 
voce.  But  when  it  was  finished  they  were  very 
solemn. 

"  It's  whut  I  was  expectin',"  said  Bob  dejectedly. 
"  The  place  ain't  whut  it  was  an'  of  course  they'd  be 
the  first  ones  to  see  it;  smart  folks  like  them." 

"  It's  a  good  place  yet,"  said  Punts  firmly,  ''  and 
growin',  too.  And  I'm  glad  they  let  up  on  Bradford 
for  pottin'  that  whatever-his-name-is  feller.  I  bet 
he  rated  it  all  right." 

"  I  guess  I'll  start  for  Alberta  'bout  to-morrow," 
said  Bob  softly;  "I  guess  I  will.  Judge  Rusher's 
buyin'  my  place  an'  Monte  is  fat  f'r  him.  Le's  have 
a  drink!" 

In  this  ceremony  they  were  joined  by  Mr.  Skookum 
Jones,  who,  upon  hearing  the  news,  donned  the  most 
mournful  appearance  I  have  ever  seen. 

**  I  was  hoping  to  see  the  lady  again,"  he  re- 
marked with  attempted  briskness.  "  I'm  gettin'  old 
but  I  was  hopin'  she'd  get  back." 

I  never  saw  Bob  Dalton  but  once  again  and  that 
was  when  he  and  Monte  went  out  of  town  like  a 
sky-rocket,  Bob  yelling  and  his  revolver  cracking  like 
Fourth-of-July.  That  was  the  last  demonstration  of 
this  kind  ever  seen  in  Washtucna.  And  that  was  the 
last  time  Washtucna  heard  Bob  Dalton's  voice. 

A  short  time  later  The  Breeze  and  The  Sun  con- 
solidated into  one  sheet,  partizanship  having  fallen 


CAM  CLARKE  307 

to  such  low  ebb  that  there  was  no  point  in  separate 
publications.  That  first  issue  of  The  Sun-Breeze 
spread  broadcast  the  news  that  *'  A.  J.  Punts,  M.D., 
perhaps  the  most  public-spirited  man  that  Washtucna 
has  hitherto  given  refuge  to,  is  departing  for  the 
newer  pastures  of  the  Big  Bend  Country."  He  left 
in  a  blaze  of  glory,  to  the  music  of  a  band  and  amidst 
cheers.  Two  days  later  Mr.  Pete  Barker  silently 
stole  away  —  to  Butte,  people  said. 

Things  were  moving  fast  again.  Men  of  this 
breed  were  now  leaving  Washtucna  as  fast  as  they 
once  had  come.  "  On  to  the  next; ''  it  was  the  dance 
of  frontier  life.  And  yet  for  one  of  these  that  left, 
seven  of  a  different  breed  came  In.  Wheat,  wheat, 
wheat:  that  was  the  fever.  Day  by  day  plough- 
shares turned  under  acre  on  acre  of  the  rich  soil,  and 
lonely  houses  came  over  night  into  every  sunburned 
valley. 

At  the  top  and  crest  of  all,  I  one  day  saw  Judge 
Rusher  and  Mr.  Beauclerc  walk  down  Steptoe 
Avenue  together  in  friendly  talk.  Partizanship  was, 
indeed,  dead. 

That  was  the  day  on  which  Ernst  Click,  the  old 
German  from  over  beyond  in  Idaho,  offered  me  a 
place  with  his  flocks  of  sheep.  This  time  there  was 
no  running  away.  My  father  looked  up  from  his 
book  of  Irish  eloquence  and  with  feeling  in  his  shrill 
voice  told  me  I  could  go.  "  Perhaps  you  can  do 
bether  f  r  y'rsilf  than  I  can  do  f  r  ye,  me  bhoy.  I 
am  an  ign'rant  man.  I  only  ask  ye  to  remember  if 
I  am  not  a  sphlendid  plant,  that  I  grew  in  a  bleak  and 
ixposed  locality  —  an'  God  bliss  ye  I  When  will  ye 
sthart?" 


308  tAM  CLARKE 

And  so  he  and  my  sister  Mary  rose  to  see  me  off 
at  earliest  day,  she  still  as  ever  with  her  hacking 
cough.  How  sweet  and  gentle  and  beautiful  she 
was  that  morning !  She  crammed  a  little  sewing  kit 
into  my  pocket,  the  buckboard  rattled  and  then  in 
the  cold  mist  we  climbed  the  hill  adown  which  Cam 
Clarke  had  once  come  on  the  shining  mare  Nan. 
Below,  all  asleep  in  a  light  of  radiant  pink,  was  the 
upstart  town  Washtucna. 

And  now,  again,  after  many  years,  I  have  returned 
to  live  quietly  in  Washtucna.  My  wife  that  is,  once 
was  Julie  Beauclerc.  We  have  prospered  and  we 
have  been  happy.  We  have  children.  We  count 
our  sheep  by  thousands  and  they  range  on  a  hundred 
mountain  sides. 

And  Cam  —  but  all  the  world  knows.  Some 
people  speak  of  him  with  awe  and  they  wonder  by 
how  many  points  his  death  would  shake  the  stock 
market ;  while  others  anathematize  him  as  the  source 
of  every  evil  thing.  I  have  seen  him  but  once  in  all 
these  years  and  that  was  in  Washtucna.  We  sat  in 
his  private  car.  Judge  Rusher  came  in,  fat,  florid 
and  with  palsy,  and  Mr.  Beauclerc,  withered,  deaf 
and  silent.  Julie  was  there,  too,  and  in  the  centre  of 
all  was  Cam,  red-haired,  with  wonderful,  flashing, 
changing,  mottled  eyes.  Mostly  he  was  silent;  but 
sometimes  he  burst  forth  with  speech  like  flame, 
rapid,  passionate,  vehement,  decisive,  not  a  word 
wasted ;  then  he  would  drop  back  again  totally  silent. 
It  made  me  think  of  a  machine  gun. 

Sarah  Clarke  and  Bradford  still  are  up  in  Vermont 
in  the  rock  country.     Like  us  in  Washtucna,  they 


CAM  CLARKE  309 

are  quiet,  old-fashioned,  early-rising  folks.  But 
Cam  is  sui  generis.  He  has  been  like  a  sky-rocket. 
Hirschlager  did  but  light  the  match.  Cam  scarcely 
came  to  railroading:  some  instinct  seemed  to  have 
brought  him  to  it.  It  was  not  by  mistake  that  he  ran 
away  with  me  to  be  a  ''  train  butcher."  Railroading 
was  the  thing  in  modern  life  that  needed  him  and 
that  he  needed. 

And  so  my  book  of  Cam  and  me  and  Washtucna 
and  all  the  rest  ends.  Gunnysack  Charlie  waits  to 
take  me  in  the  morning  on  a  buckboard  over  and 
beyond  Craig  Mountain.  There  still,  you  see,  are 
roads  and  trails  where  the  automobile  dare  not  go. 
Gunnysack  also  is  old  —  so  shall  we  all  be  soon ;  oh, 
so  very  soon.  And  but  yesterday  Julie  Beauclerc  did 
trip  the  grass  a  child ;  and  it  seems  but  last  night  that 
I  heard  the  birth  cry  of  our  first  man  child,  Cameron 
Campin,  who  now  outtops  my  height  with  his. 


THE   END 


FKINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF   AUEBXCA 


T 


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a  few  of  the  new  Macmillan  novels. 


NEW  MACMILLAN  NOVELS. 


The  Little  Lady  of  the  Big  House 

By  jack  LONDON 

Author  of  "  The  Star  Rover,"  "  The  Call  of  the  Wild," 
"  The  Valley  of  the  Moon,"  etc. 

Price  $1.50 

In  this  story  of  a  woman  whose  life  is  shaped  by  a 
great  love,  Mr.  London  adds  at  least  three  characters  to 
his  already  notable  list  of  literary  portraits  —  Dick  For- 
rest, master  of  broad  acres,  a  man  of  intellect,  training 
and  wealth;  Paula,  his  wife,  young,  attractive,  bound  up 
in  her  husband  and  his  affairs ;  and  Evan  Graham,  trav- 
eled, of  easy  manners  and  ingratiating  personality,  a  sort 
of  Prince  Charming.  The  problem  comes  with  Graham's 
entrance  into  the  Forrest  family  circle  and  it  is  a  problem 
that  must  be  solved.  To  this,  both  its  presentation  and 
its  solution,  Mr.  London  brings  all  his  powers  of  con- 
struction, of  visualisation  and  of  imagination. 


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The  Abyss 

By  NATHAN  KUSSY 

Price  $1.50 

With  the  publication  of  this  book  a  new  Jewish  novelist 
is  introduced,  one  whose  work  is  of  such  outstanding 
character  that  his  place  in  American  literature  is  hence- 
forth assured.  "  The  Abyss,"  which  bears  more  than  one 
resemblance  as  regards  subject  matter  to  "  Oliver  Twist  " 
and  "  Les  Miserables,"  tells  of  the  Hfe  of  a  Jewish  lad  in 
the  underworld.  The  story  of  his  association  with  beg- 
gars, criminals,  and  the  outcasts  of  society  and  of  his 
never  ceasing  struggles  to  escape  from  the  muck  of  his 
environment  is  revealed  with  almost  photographic  accu- 
racy and  vividness.  The  volume  is  remarkable  for  its 
portrayal  of  types,  for  the  unfailing  interest  of  the  many 
incidents  of  its  plot,  and  for  the  amazing  revelations  of 
conditions  surrounding  the  daily  existence  of  certain 
classes  of  men  and  women. 


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NEW  M ACM  ILL  AN  NOVELS. 

I  Pose 

By  STELLA  BENSON 

Price  $1.25 

The  Gardener  loves  the  Suffragette!  Together  they 
start  out  on  a  remarkable  journey,  the  one  posing  as  a 
vagabond,  the  other  as  a  desperate  woman.  They  are 
real  people,  not  Celtic  or  Doric  deities  nor  yet  allegorical 
figures.  The  people  they  meet  and  the  experiences  they 
have  are  described  in  a  wholly  original  way  and  with  a 
delightful  humor.  The  adventures  of  these  two  take 
them  to  Jamaica  and  to  Panama  among  cocoanut  palms 
and  flaming  orchids,  backgrounds  against  which  are  dis- 
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a  good  story  and  to  create  unusual  characters. 


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NEW  MACMILLAN  NOVELS. 

Those  About  Trench 

By  EDWIN  HERBERT  LEWIS 

Price  $1.33 

This  is  the  story  of  Dr.  Isham  Trench,  pediatrician,  of 
Halsted  Street,  Chicago  —  of  the  girl  he  loved,  and  of  his 
friends,  above  all  the  oddly-assorted  young  students, 
queer  Americans  and  queerer  Orientals,  whom  he  gath- 
ered about  him.  It  is  a  novel  of  ideas,  saturated  with  the 
spirit  of  modern  science,  intensely  alive  all  the  time ;  and 
it  has  also  a  plot  packed  with  strange  adventure,  which 
takes  the  reader  from  Halsted  Street  to  Peshawar,  India, 
through  Afghanistan  and  Bokhara  to  Tashkent,  across 
Austria  into  the  mountains  of  Servia,  and  very  close  to 
one  of  the  secrets  of  the  great  war.  Two  characters 
stand  out  prominently  as  among  the  most  vivid  portrayals 
in  recent  fiction :  Dr.  Trench  himself,  the  man  of  science, 
sick  of  life  yet  devoting  all  his  genius  to  saving  the  lives 
of  babies ;  and  his  mysterious  student,  Saadi  Sereef ,  bril- 
liant, impudent,  cynical,  a  self-confessed  immoralist,  who 
yet  gives  himself  wholly  to  a  great  idea  —  and  nearly 
achieves  it. 

Mr.  Lewis  is  a  writer  to  be  reckoned  with  hereafter  in 
American  fiction. 


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